The Dark Knight's Shadow
by RainaWrites
Summary: Bruce rescues a little girl from her oppressive life with the League of Shadows, and she becomes like a daughter to him. Grown up, she decides to go behind Batman's back and fight crime on her own, meeting an intriguing Officer Blake along the way. Soon she finds herself at a crux between her birth father's darkness and Bruce's heroic guidance. What will she do?
1. Training Day

_Author's Note: Welcome! A little bit about my story: I take a different spin on the character of Talia al Ghul. I shift the timeline so that Bruce meets her as a little girl and then within Christopher Nolan's universe, she becomes his protege. I loosely follow along the plot of all three movies, so don't be intimidated by the length of the read; it is basically three different story arcs. I tried to make Talia/Shadow's character a reflection of her mentor, but slightly more reckless and impulsive. John Blake is a part of my story, and much more augmented than in the movies. I have modeled his personality after Dick Grayson because I enjoy the contrast with Batman's personality. I have tried my best, however, to keep Bruce, Gordon and Alfred the same as we know and love them. Please let me know if you enjoyed my story! My goal is to give people a little escape from reality, and hopefully make them feel something strong enough to want to read more. Feedback is appreciated, and I will address any questions you may have in the comments section as RainaWritesResponses. Thanks for your time, and I hope you find it worthwhile!_

* * *

Bruce's entire body ached from their long day of training. But the tranquility of the moment filled his lungs. The sun set in a blaze of crimson, setting alight the sparsely wooded slopes below the temple. Mountains bowed majestically to the ancient glacier. The Bhutan landscape was a humbling display of respect and power.

Ra's al Ghul approached, standing beside him in stoic companionship. Their gazes drifted to the lone figure of a small girl, a blemish on the barren rock face that sheltered their temple. She toiled over a wind-beaten corner of the relic's foundation that had fallen into disrepair.

"The great love you spoke about," Bruce inquired. "She was Talia's mother?"

A somberness clouded his mentor's face.

"Yes," he answered finally. "Sometimes, I see her looking out of those eyes. But she is not there. Talia is merely a ghost of her. It is a cruel reminder." He looked away with a sigh.

Below, the child winced as a stiff burst of mountain air whipped her cowl away from her willowy frame. But her face remained reticent, and her fingers worked nimbly, efficiently. Bruce couldn't help but admire her grit.

"I have never heard her speak," he mused, for even in the gilded light of sunset she seemed part of the silent, solemn shadows.

"Not since the day she learned of her mother's death," Ra's answered. "Her mind is a simple one. She can listen sufficiently; her obedience serves her well. But I doubt she will ever amount to much."

Bruce knitted his brows at his mentor's harsh assertions. He saw a familiar darkness in the girl's eyes; it reminded him of the days following his parents' deaths. But Bruce felt sure he could also sense a resilient strength waiting to be pulled from the depths of that darkness, like smoldering embers that clung to the chance of becoming a blaze once more. Ra's had drawn the fire out of Bruce. Would he let it die within his own daughter?


	2. Mercy

That night, Bruce was wakened by a strange patter traveling past his quarters. He threw back the wool covers of his humble bed and listened intently. It was the sound of footsteps; footsteps that were distinctly human but unnaturally light as if they occasionally glided through the darkness. Bruce crept forward, feeling his way along the adorned temple walls in curious pursuit.

The mountain breathed great gusts of wind through the rafters, whispering of ancient things. Silver spears of moonlight shot between slats of the roof and illuminated empty training arenas that opened up before him. But Bruce's phantom stayed carefully within the shadows. It disappeared like a mist down a passage to the lower chambers.

Bruce hurried to follow. The air in the passage grew still and frigid. It bit cruelly at his bare feet and sent shivers down his back. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Bruce could see the red glow of a torch touching the bottom stair. As he made his way towards it carefully, the prison hold came into view.

A man was reaching through the bars of his primitive cage towards a lump of bread. Bruce leaned forward, trying to catch a glimpse of the face behind the merciful proffer. As he did so, a stair creaked beneath him. The prisoner turned with a fearful jerk.

Bruce silently cursed himself. But there was no trying to hide now. He squared his shoulders and strode into the chamber. Upon sight of him, the captive man relinquished his meal. The bread tumbled to the ground and landed in front of a pair of small, guilty feet.

Talia stood where she had been caught, face downcast in a show of fearful respect. Though her arms remained at her side, she clutched her tunic nervously.

"It is forbidden, what you are doing," Bruce said. Talia's shoulders sank in resignation. She turned and retrieved a leather whip from its hold on the wall. Dutifully, she laid it before Bruce and then knelt in surrender.

The prisoner began to protest as Bruce bent towards the whip. Talia braced herself for the first lash, burying her face in her arms to keep from crying out. The prisoner's pleas grew more and more fervent. But when Bruce straightened up again, the whip remained. In his hand was the lump of bread. He returned it to the dumbfounded captive and then stepped back. Slowly, hesitantly, Talia looked up at him.

Bruce was staring back at her with a gentle smile. It was a smile of vindication, for he knew now that she was not as simple-nor as obedient-as Ra's al Ghul believed after all. "It is forbidden, but not wrong," he said softly.

The nearby torch cast flickering shadows over the child's face. For a moment, Bruce thought he could see its flames dancing in the dark depths of her eyes. He nodded approvingly before turning to leave. She had the fire after all.


	3. The Battle

Bruce stood before the frightened prisoner, sword in hand. Members of the League of Shadows lined the temple walls, waiting to see if he would prove himself worthy of their ranks.

His training was complete. All that was left to be finished was the prisoner's life. Ra's al Ghul had decreed that he be executed for his crimes. But Bruce's heart was in turmoil.

"I will go back to Gotham and I will fight men like this," he insisted. "But I will not become an executioner."

"Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share," Ra's lectured. His voice strained with impatience.

"That's why it's so important," Bruce replied. "It separates us from them."

"You want to fight evil? Then you must learn to do what is necessary," his mentor growled. "Now please, for your own sake. There is no turning back."

Bruce hesitated. "And then what? How many more lives will you declare unworthy?"

"As many as it takes," Ra's said with chilling resolve. "It is our sacred duty. It has always been our sacred duty."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, _always_?"

"The League of Shadows goes back centuries, Bruce," Ra's explained. "We have always been a check against human corruption. We sacked Rome. Loaded trade ships with plague rats. Burned London to the ground."

A grim realization washed over Bruce, turning his stomach to ice. "That is murder. _This_ is murder."

"No, it is balance. When a forest grows too wild, a purging fire is inevitable. Come with us, Bruce. Help us purge Gotham of its evil."

Bruce's heart pounded. His chest heaved. He felt as though the room were spinning. "Gotham? You would destroy Gotham?"

"No. We would save it. And you can help us save it. Demonstrate your commitment-your commitment to justice." He motioned the sword with a sweep of his hand and then stepped back expectantly.

Bruce drew in a breath and gripped the hilt tighter. The last seven years of his life had culminated in this moment. He thought of his city. He thought of the justice he had long-since craved. His mentor's words swirled around his head like a furious river.

He lifted the sword above his head. A pitiful whimper escaped the prisoner's lips. A small figure emerged from the shadows and rushed to the prisoner's side. Talia beseeched Bruce silently, her eyes tearful and pleading. Beads of distress glistened on her brow.

"Get back!" her father ordered. With one sweep of his massive arm he sent her tumbling to the ground. Ra's turned back to Bruce, his lips curled in exasperation. "Finish this!"

The next motion must be quick, Bruce knew. He brought the sword down with all his might. The prisoner cringed, but it did not strike him. Instead, it struck the end of a nearby iron that sat, glowing hot, on the edge of a brazier. It flipped overhead to the mezzanine, where it landed in a stockpile of blackpowder.

"What are you doing?" Ra's roared.

"What is necessary," he answered stolidly.

An explosion ripped through the temple, knocking Ra's off his feet. " _Go!_ " Bruce shouted to the prisoner. The man swallowed, trembling. Fear rooted him in place. Then Talia was at his side once more. She grabbed hold of his arm and pulled, urging him on. Together they fled as Bruce turned to face the onslaught of warriors.

The ancient structure around him creaked and groaned in the throes of death. Where flames licked the ceiling the roof caved in, sending plumes of ash and embers into the air. The fire became Bruce's ally. It pried loose the rafters, which fell on the heads of his enemies; it flushed out his opponents and consumed the corners where they might otherwise lie in wait.

Then, a cruel strike to the back of his head made him sink to the floor. Dazed, he looked up into his mentor's face. "No," he groaned. "I don't want to fight you."

"You have destroyed my home! My legacy!" Ra's snarled. "Now, I will destroy _you!_ " He lifted a sword into the air, its tip hovering directly over Bruce's heart. Suddenly another explosion shattered the walls around them. The building was rent from the mountainside as if by the blow of a colossal hand.

Bruce found himself tumbling down the icy slope. He flailed out, desperately trying to slow his trajectory. Pulling a blade from his suit, he drove it into the ground with a mighty shout. It raked over the ragged earth until finally, at the last moment, it lodged. Bruce's feet swung precariously over the edge of a precipice. A vast nothingness gaped its great mouth around him, waiting to swallow him whole. The wind howled like a hungry beast, prowling the valley below.

His body ached with a dozen battle wounds. He gasped, struggling for the breath to think clearly. He could hear the the crackling of scorched wood and see a pillar of black smoke rising into the air. Bruce held onto the hilt with all his waning might, trying to muster the strength to lift himself to safety.

Then something struck the earth beside his hand. He blinked, not trusting his own sight. For there lay the end of a rope, as if Lady Fortune herself had come to his rescue. He grabbed the rope, winding it around his wrists. Soon he felt himself being dragged up and over the edge of the cliff. Heave after slow heave, he came into sight of the blasted wreckage. Amidst the debris stood not Lady Fortune, but the prisoner and the girl.

While the prisoner continued to hoist the rope in, Talia raced down the slope towards Bruce. She bounded over the ice and mud with graceful, ghost-like ease. Once Bruce was on solid enough ground, he climbed shakily to his feet and then bent over his knees to catch his breath. Talia came to a stop before him, eyes brimming with bashful admiration. A smile danced across her lips, a beautiful foreigner in a wontedly doleful place. Bruce clapped a hand against the child's cheek and gave a wry laugh. Never amount to much, indeed.

* * *

"You look fashionable; apart from the mud," Alfred quipped from the doorway of the plane. Bruce grinned. It was good to hear the butler's voice again.

Alfred's face changed as he caught sight of the girl. She walked a pace behind Bruce, keeping within the protective boundary of his shadow. She paused nervously as the sleek machine's turbines roared to life.

"Sir?" Alfred implored.

"She's coming with us," Bruce declared. He looked down at Talia. His smile faded slightly under the weight of responsibility he now bore for the child. He couldn't just leave her behind, not when it was his actions that had turned her out to the world empty-handed. They were fellow orphans now, forged by separate tragedies but bound together by a kindred spirit of justice.

She reached up and took hold of his last two fingers, her hand absurdly small compared to his. Something stirred in Bruce's heart at the silent trust in her touch. His mission manifested itself in that moment. It wasn't just about stopping the wicked; it was about protecting the innocent.

Starting with this one.


	4. A New Life

From the beginning, Talia had been kept in the shadows. Born in a prison many likened to hell, her existence was known only to her mother and the doctor who delivered her. Talia's mother would tell her about the world above ground, a world of glistening cities and light. She wove brave tales of Talia's father, always with tears in her eyes. The child pictured him to be a like a god. He was mighty and heroic and one day, he would come find them.

But he never did. Instead, it was Talia who found him. She was the first ever to escape that God-forsaken place, but soon she discovered that her new life was merely a different kind of prison.

Her father was not at all the man her mother had described. He was tormented and sullen. Though Talia longed for some semblance of affection, her presence only seemed to inflame his sorrow. Over time, that sorrow turned to anger. And so she learned to strive for his neglect, to live as a ghost within the halls of the ancient temple.

Meanwhile, Talia's father dedicated his life to the League of Shadows. He trained and recruited warriors until he had amassed an army on that unforgiving mountainside. When it came to the small child, they were intimidating, indifferent, and only on the rare occasion cruel.

They purged all the nearby villages of crime, executing offenders and maintaining peace through iron-fisted oppression. Their brutality frightened Talia. She took to caring for prisoners in secret, treating them with compassion despite her father's scorn for the sentiment. The world her mother had painted with colorful, scintillating words seemed to be long gone. Had all the heroes been corrupted?

Then her father took in a strange, new warrior. The mood of the temple shifted; an anticipation grew, blossoming silently like their rare blue flower. This man signified the beginning of their biggest conquest of all-Gotham City. He was like a prince there, as far as Talia could understand. Therefore he would be ideally placed to strike out the city's heart.

Yet he was not what she expected. It bewildered Talia the first time he spoke to her. She was doling out the supper rations, as was her duty every night. Down the line she went, ladle in hand and face to the ground as if to lessen her presence. But he placed a knuckle under her chin and nudged her gaze upwards. " _Kadrin chhe la_ ," he said in the native tongue. "Thank-you." There was something in his eyes that reminded the child of her mother. She stared back, mouth agape, until her father scolded her.

From then on, Talia found herself drawn to this new warrior. She would watch from a covert distance as her father trained him. He was a swift learner, with frightening prowess and power. Inspired, Talia would practice when she was alone, the shadows masking her secret plight.

Then came the night he discovered her in the prison hold. She thought for sure she had ruined his favor. Talia feared this intriguing stranger's disappointment more than she feared the whip's lashes. But to her surprise, she received neither.

Something stirred to life at the sight of his merciful smile, begotten by compassion and mercy. The seeds of devotion were planted in the deepest recesses of her heart, their roots taking hold in her very soul. This man was from the world her mother had spoken about. This man was incorruptible. This man was a hero.

On their flight to Gotham, Talia listened carefully as he conversed with an older gentleman called Alfred. They spoke of things like hope and justice. Bruce laid out plans to become a protector of the city, a symbol for good. His ambitious endeavors were rife with danger. But it did not scare the young girl. Instead, she longed to be a part of those plans, emboldened like never before.

No longer would her life be a meaningless shadow of one.


	5. Becoming Batman and Shadow

After their arrival in Gotham, Bruce set to work immediately. He led Talia and Alfred to a cave beneath the western wing of Wayne Manor. As they traveled through the damp darkness, Talia could read a distant look in his eyes; this place held special memories for him.

Then the cave stretched out, dimly lit by a single shaft of sunlight that pierced through the rock ceiling. A waterfall roared down through the opening, flowing towards the outside world in murky swirls. Bruce leapt onto a boulder and stuck his hand within the furious cascade. "Come closer!" he shouted, goading Alfred.

"No thanks sir, I can see just fine from here!" the old man declined.

But Talia accepted the invitation. She climbed the boulder with a fearless tenacity that surprised the two men. At the top, she pulled herself to her feet and stared at the thunderous falls in awe. There was a hint of pride in Bruce's smirk as he reached out and ruffled the hair on her head. A laugh bubbled up from the depths of her heart. She shoved his hand away, but grinned up at him affectionately. Somewhere in the space between them, a bond was quietly but undeniably forged.

It was there they decided to set up central command. Bruce nicknamed it the Bat Cave, after the local residents. It was a long and laborious task. Talia seemed to innately know when to keep out of the way and when to provide assistance. Alfred was concerned with employing the help of a child, but she would spurn any of his attempts to dissuade her.

To the butler's chagrin, Talia took after Bruce. Their dedication was admirable, but exhausting. They would starve to death if he did not make them pause to eat every so often. While the Bat Cave was under construction, the kitchen table sat undisturbed and gathering dust like a museum piece.

"Time for a break, Master Wayne," Alfred called out to them one day, striding into the study with a tray in his hands. Bruce bent over the desk, sketches of a combat suit scattered across its surface. Talia sat on the floor nearby. She skillfully assembled the links of a utility belt. Her steely composure seemed unbefitting on such a youthful face.

Alfred chuckled softly. "You too, Talia. Come, get some lunch." He proffered a bowl of his homemade chili. Reluctantly, she left her work behind and accepted the food.

It was then he caught sight of the drawings. "Looks like a bat, sir," Alfred said with a note of surprise. "I do believe you've been spending too much time down there."

"It's supposed to," Bruce replied, clearing a space to eat. "Bats terrify me. It's time my enemies share my dread."

Talia pulled one of the papers towards her as she ate, studying the fearsome figure brought to life by Bruce's pencil. It was all at once terrifying and awe-inspiring to the girl. It reminded her of a creature from the myths of the mountains. Bruce's conversation with the butler cast her mind back to her father's temple...

 _Bruce stood before a box at the start of his final test. Cautiously, he opened it. A flurry of bats emerged, filling the air with their frenzied flapping. Bruce fell to the floor, stricken with panic. Suspense gripped Talia's heart. She leaned against the railing, watching from above and urging him on with silent supplications. For a few moments, it seemed that he would fail. But slowly, Talia noticed him rising. Bruce stared into the bats as though he were staring down fear itself. Finally he was standing in their swirling, screeching midst, head held high. In that moment, Talia could barely tell where bat ended and man began._

"The Bat Man," she said suddenly.

Both men whirled, staring in astonishment at their hitherto silent companion. Never before had they heard her voice. It dawned on Bruce that those three words, so softly spoken, had shattered an old era and summoned forth a new one.

"Yes," he agreed, a smile pulling at his lips. "Batman it is."

* * *

It was with a touch of fear that Bruce realized one day how Talia had become like a daughter to him. He knew that if his enemies ever found out Batman's true identity, danger would find her first. Losing his family had pushed him over an edge once; he knew he had to do everything in his power to make sure it did not happen again.

So he decided to train the girl. They sparred in the Bat Cave for hours at a time as if they were preparing for war. Every move that Talia mastered stoked the determined fire behind her eyes, as well as Bruce's pride.

Meanwhile, he took up a job at his father's company and assumed an alter ego to help thwart suspicion. In no time at all, Bruce Wayne gained notoriety as Gotham's billionaire playboy. It wasn't unusual for Talia to come across footage of him racing around in a fancy car or showing up to an event with fancy women. But while he paraded around the city ostentatiously, her existence remained a subtle one.

Most of Talia's days were spent with Alfred, who took a kindly liking to the girl. She was conscientious, undemanding, and much tidier than his other ward. Six days a week he schooled her on everything from etiquette to economics. The butler's wealth of knowledge was surprisingly diverse; he taught her to speak in variety of languages and even passed along his medical expertise from a stint in the British Royal Army.

To Alfred's delight, Talia proved herself a gifted, diligent student. Still, her favor was obvious. She rarely left Bruce's side when he was home.

"She follows your every step," Alfred noted one time, wry amusement in his voice. "Sometimes, I mistake her for your shadow!"

The name stuck.

And for several years thereafter, the halls of Wayne Manor echoed with hushed, auspicious plans. New life breathed into its stone soul. Beneath its foundation, Batman prepared to stretch his wings for the very first time.

But little did he know that war was indeed coming...


	6. The Encounter in the Alley

Something had gone terribly wrong. "Alfred…" a voice rasped through the communicator. And then nothing.

Alfred and Shadow had been watching a lackluster football match on the television, trying to pass the time until Bruce returned from his investigation of a drug house in the Narrows. Fear gripped their hearts at the unexpected page.

"Do you have his location?" Shadow asked, trying to sound brave.

Alfred picked up a device from the side table. "Yes. Let's go."

They dashed away fast as they could. Bullets of rain pelted the car windows and darkened the sky forebodingly. But before they could reach the bridge, their connection with Batman's homing beacon went out. Alfred tried in vain to resurrect the small, red dot that indicated his last position. "Why did it stop? What does that mean?" Shadow asked.

"I don't know," he answered honestly, not willing to consider the possibilities.

As they entered the Narrows, Alfred and Shadow felt daunted by the amount of ground to cover. "Stop here," Shadow said. "We have to split up. Page me if you find him." She leapt from the car, barely waiting for it to stop.

As Alfred pulled away, she felt suddenly very alone. Bruce had always forbidden her to enter the Narrows; it was the filthy underworld of Gotham. Even police stayed away, only showing up in force for high profile cases. All other crimes were considered commonplace, and left alone like a festering wound on the city's skin.

Foreign noises assaulted Shadow's ears. The merciless rain blinded her. Up and down the crooked alleyways she searched for any sign of her surrogate father. At the base of an abandoned apartment building she stumbled over a crumpled black mass. She looked back, bewildered.

It was Batman.

With fumbling fingers, she paged for Alfred. The device beeped comfortingly. It would soon give him their location. Shadow crouched beside the fallen hero, deathly afraid of what she would learn.

He was alive, but unresponsive. Embers across his body hissed as they were extinguished by the rain. Flames had covered him at one point, destroying most of his cape and scarring his suit irreparably. Shadow looked around, her eyes wide with fear. Who had done this to him? Were they still nearby?

She tried to rouse him. They had to get somewhere safer. Bruce was muttering something under his breath. She bent down, turning an ear towards his mouth. But his ramblings were incoherent. Something about blood? Poison? His features were twisted with terror; it looked foreign on his face and filled her with trepidation.

Shadow squeezed Bruce's hand, but his mind was gone. A whimper rose in her throat as his body began to relax. He was losing consciousness. "Hang in there!" she cried desperately.

Then a noise rang out nearby-the _clink_ of a glass bottle being kicked by an errant foot. She snapped to attention. Her chest tightened with dread as she poised herself above the helpless Batman, ready to defend him.

A figure formed, gun drawn. Shadow held her breath, quickly counting her options as she had been trained to do.

Then the mist cleared just enough for her to see his face: Officer Gordon.

Upon sight of the girl, he immediately lowered his gun. He could see that she was terrified, but still she stood her ground. Gordon felt touched by this display of courageous loyalty in the dark of the Narrows.

"He needs help," he called out. Her posture eased, but only slightly.

Gordon holstered his gun and approached slowly, his hands raised in a show of good faith. She stepped back warily, allowing him to approach Batman's side. Like a wild animal, she watched his every move.

Gordon reached out to check for Batman's pulse. Quick as a flash she clutched his arm. He looked at the girl, surprised by the strength of her grip.

"His mask," she said sternly.

"It's alright," Gordon promised, his voice exuding sincerity. His face conveyed kindness in every feature, every line. In that moment, Shadow understood why Bruce had chosen this man. Gordon would not violate their sacred trust, she decided.

She gave a capitulating nod. Gordon placed a finger on Batman's neck. His skin burned to the touch. Gordon pushed back his eyelids to uncover glazed, bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils. "Looks like he's been drugged. Do you know what happened to him?" he asked the girl. She shook her head woefully.

"Are you alone?" The rain hammered so loudly around them he was practically shouting, making it difficult to conceal the concern in his voice.

"Help is on the way. I don't know how much longer..." As she glanced about furtively, Gordon realized just how young she was. Her valiance lapsed momentarily and she became helpless, scared, and small. Apprehension filled her dark eyes. Rain dripped from the messy braid over her shoulder.

His paternal nature longed to console her. "It's going to be alright," he said, reaching for her hand. She withdrew instinctively. He smiled, resigned. She was as aloof as the man she protected.

Headlights blazed through the darkness suddenly, illuminating the startled pair through the veil of rain. Gordon's hand went to his holster, but she shook her head at him. The car pulled up beside them, gravel crunching beneath the wheels and its engine chugging patiently. Gordon waited for someone to emerge, but instead, the girl got to work. She opened the back door and then wrapped her arms around Batman's massive torso in an attempt to lift him.

Gordon balked at her temerity. He took her place, motioning for her to help at the other end instead. Gordon's curiosity flickered when he saw the outline of the driver. But the inside of the car was dark, the task difficult, and Gordon too honorable of a man.

Once the unconscious Batman was lain safely on the seat, the girl slid herself between Gordon and the door to further shield the driver's secrecy. It made Gordon smile. She was certainly a good ally: clever, capable, and courageous to boot.

"I don't know how to thank you," she said, looking up at him with an appreciative smile that transformed her face.

"You don't have to," he said, returning the smile. As Shadow watched him disappear back into the rainy mist, she knew it would be an encounter she would never forget.


	7. Happy Birthday

Late afternoon light seared through a small crack in the curtains when Bruce awoke. He sat up with a groan and rubbed his bleary eyes. His head felt like it was full of water. When he swung his feet over the edge of the mattress, they touched a pile of blankets instead of the carpet. Confused, he squinted at the floor.

A small figure was curled up beneath a quilt. Shadow's chest rose and fell with every peaceful breath. Bruce smiled to himself. He reached down and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face affectionately.

The door creaked open. "Ah, about time," Alfred said. The aroma of chicken noodle soup wafted over to the bed. Glass trembled against a silver tray as the butler walked into the room.

Shadow stirred from the ground. "You're awake!" she cried, climbing hastily to her feet. She barrelled into Bruce with her arms around his neck.

"Good morning to you, too," he laughed.

"She would barely eat," Alfred informed his master. "So I've prepared two bowls. I want them empty before either of you do anything else."

Shadow settled onto the bed beside Bruce. Obediently, she accepted a bowl from the butler.

"How long have I been out?" Bruce asked, lifting a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

"Three days," Alfred replied.

"Three days!"

"Yes. Today is your birthday. Or have you forgotten?" Alfred clicked his tongue. "I was beginning to worry about the party."

"What party?" Bruce wrinkled his face in confusion.

"Bruce Wayne's party. Batman will have to take a night off."

"I can't Alfred. This poison...it was a hallucinogen of some kind. I've felt these effects before." His mind drifted back to a blue flower in the mountains of Bhutan. "But it's been weaponized somehow. I think Gotham is in danger."

"You believe Crane has something planned?" the butler asked.

"Yes. But I feel like there's more. There has to be someone else in the picture."

"Like whom?"

"I don't know. Yet." Bruce swallowed another spoonful of soup and then rose out of bed. "How did you cure me, by the way?"

"I didn't," Alfred replied. "Fox did. I called him when your symptoms worsened. He made an antidote. Said you owe him for the overtime."

Bruce hurriedly pulled on some clothes. "Tell him to mass produce as many as he can. I want you and Shadow to take a dose right away, just in case. Get one to Gordon as well."

"And where are you going? The party is in three hours!" Alfred protested.

"I'll try to be back in time. But no promises. Shadow, prepare the tumbler for me."

She cast her soup aside and eagerly followed Bruce out the door, making towards the Bat Cave.

"You're helping me with that cake as soon as you're done, young lady!" Alfred called after her. He collected their bowls with a sigh of exasperation. It wasn't easy, watching over the dark knight and his shadow. But someone had to do it.


	8. Their Masks

Shadow stood near one of the windows in an itchy, uncomfortable dress. She worried about Bruce; he still hadn't returned. Meanwhile, affluent guests mingled around her with disingenuous smiles. They mostly ignored Shadow, considering themselves too important to socialize with a child. She didn't mind, of course.

"May I have this dance?" She whirled to find Bruce standing behind her, a chivalrous hand offered up. Shadow accepted with a smile of relief. She did not find dancing as enjoyable as training. But it let her spend time with Bruce in public, which was rare.

"Your waltz is getting better," he noted as they fell in step with the band. "And you look very beautiful tonight." He grinned in response to the scowl she cast him. Bruce knew how much she hated dressing up. It was almost as much as she hated parties.

"You're late," she scolded. "Alfred will be furious."

Bruce's smile wilted. "I'm afraid there are bigger things to worry about at the moment."

Her heart gave a thump. "What did you find out?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"Crane has been pouring his toxin into the city water pipes," he answered. "For weeks now, from the looks of it."

"Then how come nobody has been feeling the effects?"

"When Crane used it on me, it was airborne. Perhaps they have to find a way to vaporize it."

Shadow mulled over his words. "You'll stop them, though," she said stolidly. "I know you will."

Bruce's smile beamed down at her. He swelled with gratefulness for the faith he found in her eyes. It encouraged him more than she knew. The song ended as a scatter of applause rose up around them.

"Thanks for the dance," he nodded, returning to his alter ego. "You should try the shrimp appetizers, by the way. They're _magnifique_."

He turned and disappeared back into the crowd. Shadow sighed. It was lonely, wearing their masks in public. Sometimes she wished she could have a mantle like his, one that would let her show her true face. But for now, it was shrimp appetizers that were calling her name, not the city of Gotham.


	9. The Return of Ra's al Ghul

Candles flickered atop a five-tiered cake as a handful of waiters placed the massive, frosted tower before Bruce. A chorus of singing started up, filling the chamber with a familiar birthday ballad. Bruce smiled and waved, lapping up the attention. Sometimes Shadow suspected he rather enjoyed it.

As he blew out the candles, she raised her hands to clap. But then she noticed a face in the crowd that turned her blood to ice. His close-cropped hair was streaked on the sides with silver. His shoulders were broad and powerful. And his eyes were dark and deep, just like Shadow's. Her mother had always told her she inherited her father's eyes.

She looked back at Bruce. A waiter was handing him a plate of cake. Guests hovered nearby, waiting to pass on their well wishes. Shadow fidgeted anxiously. She had to tell him, but she could not blow his cover.

Shadow edged closer, weaving through the sea of dresses and tuxedos. Suddenly, someone placed an arm around her shoulders. She instinctively tried to wriggle away, but froze when the tip of a knife touched her back.

"Come with me," a voice rasped in her ear. Out of choices, she obeyed.

* * *

"Of course, of course, thanks again. Nice to see you," Bruce said, nodding farewell to a couple of guests. He turned back to the crowd. Everyone had fallen into private conversations while waiters continued to dole out slabs of cake.

He scanned the room for Shadow, frowning when he did not see her. Perhaps she had returned to her room. But that was unlike her. As much as she abhorred these type of events, she was always dutiful to stay the whole way through.

"Mr. Wayne," a man greeted, extending his hand towards the billionaire. "There is someone you must meet."

"Oh?" Bruce said with a pretense of curiosity. He shook the stranger's hand politely.

"Yes," he answered. "I believe you know him. His name is Ra's al Ghul."

Bruce's smile vanished. "No. It can't be."

"Why is that?" the stranger asked, leading him through the crowd.

"Ra's al Ghul is dead."

The crowd faded away from his vision as a tall, muscular man came into view. He turned to face Bruce, a wickedly smug smile on his familiar face.

"I warned you, Bruce," he said. "Gotham's time has come."

Memories came flooding back. The glacier. The temple. A blue flower- _the blue flower!_ Something clicked in his mind.

"So you're the one behind Crane's poison."

Ra's smiled at him, pleased with his deduction. "Yes. It is derived from our blue flower. Crane found a way to weaponize it. He helped us carry out our plan, though he does not know the magnitude of the reckoning about to befall this wretched city."

"Your fight is with me. Let these people go." The pleasantries of the party carried on around the two men. Guests laughed amongst themselves, oblivious to their imminent danger.

"You're welcome to explain it to them," Ra's sneered.

Bruce clenched his jaw. He had to think of something quickly. A waiter passed by with a tray full of drinks. Bruce snatched a glass of champagne and held it aloft.

"Everyone," he said loudly, clearing his throat. "Everybody, hey, can I have your attention?" The room quieted as guests turned expectantly towards their host. "I uh...I want to propose a toast."

Bruce stumbled in feigned drunkenness, eliciting a round of uncomfortable laughter. "You see, the thing about being a Wayne is, you're never short of a few freeloaders to fill your mansion with. So here's to you people, you...you...phonies." He took a sip of the champagne as the crowd looked on in mortified silence. "You two-faced friends...you sycophantic suck-ups!"

Someone tugged at his arm. "That's enough, Bruce," the man whispered. But Bruce shrugged him off.

"Yes. That _is_ enough. Why don't you people just leave me in peace, okay? The party is over. Just...go."

Guests murmured incredulously, but they took the hint. People filed out of the room, casting disapproving scowls his way. Members of the League of Shadows emerged from the thinning crowd. They surrounded Bruce, circling like vultures.

"Amusing, but pointless," Ra's said. "None of these people have long to live."

"So you really are going to destroy millions of lives?"

"Only a cynical man would call what these people have 'lives' Wayne."

"Gotham isn't beyond saving. Give me more time. There are good people here," Bruce beseeched his former mentor and friend. But his heroic pleas were falling on deaf ears.

"Do you consider yourself one of these 'good people', Bruce? You burned my house down and left me for dead." Ra's nodded to his men. They set about turning over furniture and dowsing everything in gasoline. "Tonight, I will return the favor."

Suddenly, Bruce was struck from behind. He lashed out a leg, knocking his attacker to the ground. The other men closed in, but Bruce took them on with a skillfulness that made his master proud. Then something small and fierce came to his defense. Shadow leapt into the fight, driving Bruce's attackers away with remarkable tenacity. She was surprisingly well off, but not for long. Soon she found herself pinned to the floor, a massive hand wrapped around her throat. She kicked out her legs in futility as her vision began to dim.

"Shadow! _No!_ " Bruce shouted. He raged against their enemies, fueled on by her defeat.

"STOP!" a voice boomed.

The man released his death grip from Shadow's throat. She rolled over onto her knees, coughing and gagging as air flooded her burning lungs.

"I told you to make sure she would not interfere," Ra's growled.

The man who had separated Shadow from the party swallowed nervously. "She escaped," he protested. "I did not expect her to be such...trouble."

Ra's approached the girl. She looked up timorously. Her father's presence sent a familiar bolt of fear down her spine.

"Talia? A warrior?" he chuckled. "You have found your courage. I admire that greatly." Her brows furrowed at his flattery. It was unlike him.

"You are defending the wrong man. I thought you were dead, Talia. I was doing this for you-to avenge you." She searched his gaze. A childish hope fluttered in her chest. She remembered the way she used to see him as a hero, the way she used to yearn for his kindness.

Imploringly, she looked to Bruce. He hung between the grip of two henchmen. He stared back at her with rueful eyes. She wanted to believe him, he could see it. Had it been right of him to bring her here after all? He was not her father, though he had taken up the role. Could he begrudge her for honoring her own flesh and blood? For following her birthright?

But the sight of her beloved master on the verge of defeat filled Shadow with a protective anger. The loyalty that bonded her to him burned and raged within her veins.

"No." she stated resolutely. Ra's glowered at her petulance.

"You did this for yourself," she went on, her voice strong and steady. "Grief warped your sense of justice. You are no better than the criminals you punish. It was never about me. Or mother. She would hate who you have become."

Her final words cut through her father like a sword. His face ruddied with anger. She stared dead into his eyes, unafraid now, though she knew what was coming.

"NOOO!" Bruce shouted as Ra's drew back his arm. He struck the child with such a force that her body crumpled to a motionless heap on the floor.

Bruce struggled with all his strength, throwing off one of his captors in a paternal rage. Meanwhile, the fire had been closing in around them. It dislodged a beam from above. His other captor jumped out of the way just in time.

But Bruce was not so lucky. It landed across his chest, knocking him to the floor. Ra's bowed mockingly to the unconscious man. "Consider us even," he said, and left the two bodies lying in the path of the rapacious fire.

But he did not know about Alfred. The butler had prudently remained hidden during the confrontation. With Ra's and his men safely out of sight, he rushed forth to aid his two wards.

Tenderly he touched Shadow's face. She murmured in pain. "It's alright now, love," he said, looking her over quickly and helping her to sit up.

Behind them, Bruce was rousing awake, the beam still pinned to his chest. He struggled groggily underneath its weight.

"What's the point of doing all those push-ups if you can't even lift a bloody log?" Alfred clucked.

Bruce stared back in vexed disbelief. But the jibe worked. With a groan of effort, Bruce lifted the beam and threw it clear.

The three hurried to the Bat Cave's elevator as the mansion began to fall apart. Safely inside, Shadow slid to the floor, her senses still returning. Bruce crouched before her. He placed his hands lovingly on either side of her face.

"You don't owe me anything," he said to her. "You don't have to do this for me."

Shadow's eyes softened as she understood. "You don't have to do this either."

A burst of flames shot through the corridor above them. They looked up mournfully at the demolition of their cherished refuge. Bruce's face darkened with despair. "I wanted to save Gotham. I couldn't even save my own home."

Alfred looked upon the battered pair, their morale dwindling.

"Why do we fall?" he asked, his voice warm and encouraging. "So we can learn to pick ourselves up."


	10. Enlisting Help

"We need reinforcements!" Gordon belted into the radio. "Swat team, anything!"

"All of the city's riot police are on the island with you," Commissioner Loeb answered. His voice trembled with defeat. "There's nobody left to send."

"You mean we're on our own?" Gordon's shoulders sank beneath the gravity of his hopelessness.

Just then, a tangle of screams and snarls turned his stomach to ice. A clamoring crowd spilled into the street. The mob turned against itself as formerly sane citizens clawed at each other in feverish fear. Gordon slowly backed away, trying to avoid their detection.

Suddenly his forehead hit the ground. A man had rushed him from behind. Gordon raised his arms to ward off the frantic attack. Then, when he saw an opening, he bucked and rolled. His attacker tumbled to the pavement, still shrieking incoherently. Only now the horde of violence was upon them. Both men were swept up into the madness and found themselves drowning in the deadly chaos.

A blinding spotlight made everyone momentarily freeze. An armored vehicle crouched before the murderous throng, growling like a wild animal. As the door swung up with a hydraulic hiss, Gordon felt a flutter of hope. Help had arrived.

Citizens collectively rushed at their new foe, bombarding the driver. But a small black shape spun in the center of the fervor, kicking here and striking there with exquisite skill. Every last opponent was left lying on the ground, groaning in agony.

"Nice to see you again," Gordon called, full of relief.

Shadow hailed him with a weary smile. "Are you alright?" Her eyes drifted to the fresh gash on Gordon's forehead.

"I'll be fine, thanks to you," he winked. More screams arose from the streets behind them. Their smiles sobered.

"The Narrows is tearing itself to pieces," she bemoaned, casting a cautious glance over her shoulder. Gordon rubbed the back of his neck absent-mindedly as he thought of the commissioner's words. But his hopelessness evaporated in the child's presence. For where she was, the dark knight was sure to be nearby. _No,_ he mused. _We aren't on our own._

"So what's his plan? How can I help?" Gordon asked. Shadow looked back at him, comforted by the kindred loyalty she found in his eyes.

"Well..." she began. Her lips curled deviously. "Can you drive stick?"


	11. Off the Rails

As Shadow left Gordon behind with crucial instructions, she felt a troublesome pang of guilt. She had passed along the role Bruce gave strictly to her. But her sense of duty had always superseded her obedience. She knew that she could not let him face her father alone.

The train had already begun its journey. It was still picking up speed with metallic groans of effort. Shadow's heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of the ferocious battle raging within. Student and master clashed in a fight to the death, as if the mighty mountains had decided to wage war on the ancient glacier.

If she waited much longer, trying to board the barrelling train would be suicide. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she shot a grappling gun at the side of the mechanical beast, holding on as tightly as she could. She was swung aloft and for a moment, she thought her arms would be wrenched from their sockets. Gasping for breath, she began reeling herself in until she could use her pendulum-like momentum to throw herself into a window. The glass shattered around her, scoring her with hundreds of skin-deep cuts. Taking only a second to collect herself, Shadow raced down the aisles as fast as her feet could fly.

Likewise the train hurtled forward, reaching breakneck speeds. Steel buildings flew by the windows. Steam exploded from the water mains below the tracks. A reckless chaos consumed the Narrows. Shadow halted in dread as she reached the final car. Wayne Tower loomed before them. They were nearly out of time, but Batman was still locked in battle. There was only one option left.

She crossed the threshold and into the war. Both titans looked up from their deathmatch in shock. "What makes you think you can save him this time?" her father taunted.

"Stay back, Shadow!" Batman warned.

Ra's broke away and strode towards her menacingly. But Shadow rushed towards him, too. At the last minute she dove past him, sliding into the controls. She plunged a knife into the circuit boards, driving it deeper with all her strength. Then she was yanked away by the collar of her shirt. Her father spun her to the floor and drove his heel into her stomach.

"You have always disappointed me," he jeered. She squirmed beneath his crushing weight, watching in helpless horror as he wrenched the knife free. "Since this is your choice, you will die for Gotham." He drew the knife close to her throat.

"Nooo!" Batman cried. He barrelled into him furiously, crying out in rage. The knife clattered to the ground. Ra's snarled at the interruption. He struck Batman square on the jaw and the battle resumed.

"You are just an ordinary man in a cape. That's why you can't fight injustice and that's why you can't stop this train!" he rasped with wicked triumph.

"Who said anything about stopping it?" Shadow's voice rose from the sidelines.

Ra's paused. His eyes flew to the destroyed controls. At that moment an explosion ripped through the tracks ahead of them. Metal beams tumbled downward with earth-shattering clangs. Gordon had fulfilled his role.

Preying upon his enemy's surprise, Batman threw him to the ground. He poised the steel point of a batarang at his throat. Anger smoldered in his eyes. "Never again will you harm Shadow. Never again will you threaten my city."

"Have you finally learned to do what is necessary?" Ra's smirked. Shadow's heart leapt into her throat. She stared at Bruce despairingly. Her mind flashed to his refusal of the prisoner's execution that fateful day.

"No," Batman said, lowering his arm. "I won't kill you." The young girl closed her eyes in relief. Despite everything, her father would still not make Bruce a murderer.

He threw a grenade behind him, blowing out the back of their car and separating it from the rest of the train. "Shadow-" Batman beckoned urgently. She rushed forward into his arms.

"Come with us, father! It's not too late!" she pleaded. But he did not try to rise.

"Go," he spat. "I cannot stand the sight of you."

Batman lifted her into the black embrace of night. Shadow watched as the train car pitched forward over the edge. It landed in a fiery blaze of destruction, sending up billows of smoke over her father's funeral pyre. Ra's al Ghul's war was finally over.

Bruce set the girl down on a nearby rooftop. She sank to the pavement, overwhelmed by the tragic culmination of events. He knelt beside her small, mournful frame.

"My father...he could never stand the sight of me," she lamented, stifling a sob. His reappearance had trudged up painful, still-fresh memories. She trembled with the effort of maintaining a brave exterior. But she dissolved into tears as soon as Bruce gathered her from the ground and clasped her tightly to his chest.

"Hey, hey," he soothed. "It's going to be alright." She made an attempt to collect herself, nodding with a pitiful sniffle. He had never seen her so child-like.

"For what it's worth," he whispered. "I'm proud of you."

Tears flooded her cheeks anew. "A lot. It's worth a lot." She buried her face in his shoulder. They remained thus for a long while, basking in Gotham's bittersweet victory. They had saved the city, but at a cost. It was time for them to rebuild.


	12. Rebuilding

It took years to reclaim the Narrows in the aftermath of Ra's al Ghul. In the meantime, a new Wayne Manor was constructed. Bruce insisted it be the same as the old one, brick for brick. Shadow suspected he was honoring his parents in his own special way.

Gotham rebuilt itself, too, under the protective wing of its guardian. The dark knight's reputation swelled. Critics said he was just a man, but they could not deny there was something unearthly about his capabilities. Sometimes it seemed as if there was a shadow watching over Batman, like the night itself had sent him a guardian. It struck fear deep in the hearts of criminals and kept the city safe for a time.

Years passed. The events leading up to her father's death had failed to deter Shadow's devotion. Instead, she threw herself into Bruce's cause uninhibited. Though she often begged more involvement, he was reluctant to place his surrogate daughter in danger. So he kept her busy with smaller missions-planting bugs, performing research, and providing the right distractions at the right times. Fox also enlisted her help. Shadow's technological expertise proved invaluable to Bruce whenever the tumbler needed repairs or his suit required an upgrade.

All the while they continued to train together. Her skills sharpened. Her instincts honed. Bruce was surprised at how quickly she was becoming a force to reckon with. It was easy to underestimate her, and so occasionally, she managed to get the better of him. After one particularly punishing strike, Bruce recoiled, laughing in surprise.

"It's a good thing you're on my side," he said, rubbing his jaw to soothe the pain. She laughed with him, her face glowing in the wake of his praise. He looked upon her affectionately. She had grown up so suddenly. Gone was the forlorn child of the mountains; in her place stood a stalwart woman forged like a diamond under the crushing weight of her tribulations.

"Well on that note, it's time for me to get ready for work." Bruce removed his gear and Shadow begrudgingly did the same.

"Will you be going to the library again today?" he asked. She nodded. "Good," he said proudly. Shadow's faithfulness to her studies of late was an encouraging sign. Secretly, he hoped that college would suit her better than it did him. That way, she could have a future not beleaguered by the weight of justice.

But as Bruce left ahead of her, Shadow's face clouded with guilt. She had not set foot in Gotham's great library for months now.


	13. A Clandestine Meeting

Squealing of tires pierced the air as a dark SUV pulled into an abandoned parking garage. Like a snake it wound its way up the concrete ramps to the top level, where a van waited with sinister patience beneath a canvas of steely clouds. An impending storm darkened the afternoon sky and stifled the air with a foreboding calm.

Armed guards flanked the van. They remained indifferent as a blubbering man was pushed from the SUV. He flailed on the ground, his frantic iterations falling on unsympathetic ears. Froth flew from the corners of his mouth, which was twisted into a horrendous, crazed smile.

"Forget to mention something about those drugs?" his angry dealer shouted, emerging with a handful of cronies. They walked in a menacing line towards the other party.

"Yeah. No refunds," his supplier said smugly, still within the van. He stroked his coarse, sandy-colored beard in lackadaisical fashion. A chorus of metallic clicks answered him. Undaunted, the van's guards drew up their own guns. The tension was as palpable as the imminent storm.

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the SUV. Its former occupants pitched forward, thrown to the ground from the force. The men left standing aimed their weapons at the wreckage, waiting tensely for a culprit to emerge.

But instead, one of them was yanked off his feet and dragged behind the van. He disappeared from view with a muffled scream. His coworkers whirled. "Crohn?" one of them called nervously. He was met with an ominous silence. Skittishly, they approached the back of the van, gripping their guns with sweaty palms. A fury of fists and feet materialized, overcoming the armed criminals with frightful speed and accuracy.

"Go, go!" the supplier shouted to his driver. Tires screeched as they peeled away. With reckless speed they spiraled down the ramps. But unbeknownst to them, a shadow appeared on the ledge of the level they had just fled. It bided its time with a predator's patience.

Just when they had begun to breathe again in anticipatory relief, the roof of the van caved in. The vehicle reeled forward blindly, crashing into a wall and knocking the driver out cold. The supplier, now the last man standing, scrambled from the wreckage. He ran for an exit, but didn't make it very far before a black avalanche landed on his back.

"There's something I need to know," a menacing voice whispered. "And you're going to tell me."

* * *

Gordon arrived at the forsaken parking structure with several of his men in league. Battered and bound criminals waited for them in a line against the wall.

"Well go ahead, take them in," he ordered his officers.

"If only Batman could do the paperwork as well," a young policeman said with a lopsided smile. He helped a perp to his feet. Blood stained the man's sandy-colored beard.

"It wasn't Batman," he said glumly, causing his captor to pause.

The officer looked at Gordon, puzzled. But Gordon didn't look perplexed. There was a distant, fond look in his eyes.

"Sir?"

Gordon looked back at the officer. "That paperwork is waiting, Blake."


	14. Limits

*A few months earlier*

"Another rough night, sir?" Alfred asked as he and Shadow walked into the sparsely decorated bedchamber. The blankets on the massive four-poster bed remained undisturbed. Morning light floated in through the window where Bruce sat laboring over a gash on his arm.

"Why do you insist on doing this yourself? You always make a mess," Shadow clicked her tongue, rushing over to finish the stitches herself. He laughed wryly, but glanced at her with an appreciative fondness. It was then he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. She must have waited up for him again.

Alfred set the breakfast tray nearby. "Did you get mauled by a tiger?" he said, wincing upon sight of the ugly wound.

"It was a dog," Bruce murmured.

"What's that?"

"A _big_ dog."

It was Shadow's turn to laugh now. Their banter was a familiar, endearing part of life in Wayne Manor. Nimbly, she finished winding the sutures through. Bruce nodded his gratitude and then rose to finish getting dressed. As he rifled through the wardrobe, a dusty shaft of sunlight fell across his back, illuminating a patchwork of old and new bruises. Shadow's gaze softened with concern.

Alfred noticed as well. "You're not still going to work, are you?" he asked as Bruce pulled on a crisp white button-up.

"Of course I am, Alfred. It's Thursday." He flashed him a cheeky smile.

"Know your limits, Master Wayne," the unamused Alfred warned.

"Batman has no limits." Bruce answered, seriously this time. Shadow paused in her clean up of the blood.

"But _you_ do, sir," his caretaker urged.

"I can't afford to know them," Bruce went on. He did not notice the crestfallen look that came over the young woman's face.

"And what happens on the day that you find out?"

"Well, we all know how much you love to say I told you so." After a final glance in the mirror, Bruce turned to leave. The breakfast tray remained untouched. Shadow hung her head ruefully as she resumed tidying up.

"On that day even I won't want to. Probably," Alfred quipped. He followed Bruce out of the door.

Their footsteps echoed through the massive hall, fading away from Shadow's ears. Her heart sank in the silence that ensued. Batman was an immortal symbol, but Bruce Wayne was just a man. For years now, she had watched as he sacrificed his time, his mind, and his body. The mantle of Batman was a promise of hope for Gotham, but a promise of death for its creator.

Shadow felt restless. She had to do something. She could not sit idly by and watch his slow suicide. It was time to get involved.

And so, with Bruce and Alfred on their way to Wayne Industries, Shadow took things into her own hands. She hurried to the Bat Cave's supercomputer in search of a trail. Her probing yielded a name: Salvatore Maroni. Shadow's pulse quickened. Bruce was trying to take down the mob.


	15. Shadow's Research

For the next few months, Shadow conducted covert investigations during the day. She did it under the guise of library trips, realizing quickly that her benefactors did not question studious intents. And so while Batman and Gordon focused on money laundering trails, she tracked the mob's drug deals. She didn't need a mask; she relied on her preternatural ability to hide in plain sight. People could walk right past her and not remember her face.

It wasn't long until she discovered something strange: a handful of deaths that were unusual in nature but too sporadic to garner much attention. Victims died after taking a mystery drug dubbed Laughing Gas. A fit of hysteria preceded death, a lingering smile of delirium the final symptom. But as she made her way up the chain of command, she felt a nagging suspicion that the mob was not responsible for the Laughing Gas. After all, it was not profitable to kill off paying customers.

The time had come when Shadow needed to be a little bit more direct. She'd assembled and repaired Bruce's suit many times over the years, so it was not difficult to make something for herself. It was not as symbolic as his, but just as frightful.

As she waited in the abandoned parking garage, she felt a rush of exhilaration. Her mask represented a strange dichotomy; for although it was meant to conceal her identity, it was what would allow her to truly be seen.

* * *

"There's something I need to know," Shadow whispered into the man's ear, reveling in her success. "And you're going to tell me."

"Like hell!" Frightened as he was, he put up an amusing charade of impudence. She wrenched his arm towards his shoulder. He howled in pain as she kept on, biding her time cruelly.

"Ok, ok," he panted. "I'm all ears." She loosened her grip, but kept a punishing knee between his shoulder blades.

"You get your drugs from Maroni's men. But where did you get the Laughing Gas?"

The man spit mud from his mouth. "Same, I swear!"

She dug her knee in deeper, despite his protests.

"No really, they come into the shipyards, after hours. Same time but different crates. I-I-" he ground his teeth and groaned. "I ain't lying!"

"What do they do with it?" she growled.

He howled in pain again. "They set it aside, I don't know anything else, I promise! I thought they were trying to keep the best stuff for themselves. If they find out I took it-"

"Do I look like I work for them?" she snapped.

The man shook his head vigorously and whimpered, waiting for her next punishment. But none came. He rolled over slowly.

"Ha!" he shouted, marvelling at his luck. His antagonizer had vanished into thin air. He tried to stand, but was chagrined to realize his hands and feet had been bound together. In the distance, sirens cut through the storm-stifled air.


	16. On The Trail

"We have enough information. He told me the shipyards, after hours-,"

"We can't afford the resources on a drug sting right now," Gordon interrupted. "Commissioner Loeb will never go for it."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think there's something more going on," the young man persisted.

"Blake," Gordon sighed, looking up at him from his desk. He took a secret liking to this new officer and his uncanny perceptiveness. He would be good for Gotham. "There _is_ something more going on. But it's not happening in the shipyards."

Blake knitted his brows. "Are you still going after the mob?" he asked with a hushed voice.

Gordon's silence confirmed it.

"But those bank searches were a bust. They moved their money in time. We've got nothing now."

Gordon smiled. "I wouldn't say that. Now if you'll excuse me," he shifted his attention to the paperwork on his desk. Blake caught something telling in the wake of his smile.

He turned to the door, but instead of leaving, he shut it closed. Gordon looked up, puzzled.

"Sir," Blake began. "I know you've been meeting with the Batman in secret about this. You and that district attorney-Harvey Dent?"

Gordon stared back, unruffled. "And?"

"Well, how come none of you were at that drug deal? Maybe she knows something you've all missed."

"What do you propose, son? We don't even have a name for her."

Blake leaned forward on his palms. "But you know how to get in touch with her."

At this, Gordon's face betrayed surprise. "Who said that?"

"You did, in a way." Blake scrutinized his superior's reaction.

Gordon couldn't hold back a smile. "You're a keen one, Officer Blake. You'll go far in this city. But let us handle this. For now, I believe you have some paperwork to finish."

Blake let out a breath resignedly. Gordon would not follow the trail. It was up to Blake to find her again.


	17. The Shipyard

Night spread its wings over Gotham. In the shipyard, docks groaned against the heaving tide. Water sloshed at the shore. A hazy moon drifted across the sable sky, brooding down upon Blake while he waited surreptitiously in the dark.

From the safety of shadows, he watched the clandestine scene. Shifty figures worked quickly, unloading crates from a barge and into the back of a truck. Every once in awhile, one was set aside and promptly ignored.

A well-dressed, burly man exited the cab of the semi. He puffed patiently on a cigar, the tip glowing red against the sinister black.

"Alright, you three secure the truck. The rest of you, get outta here." His voice sounded like the gravel beneath the massive tires.

A handful of men cleared off, shrinking back into the night as their boss climbed back into the cab. Blake sighed. Perhaps she wouldn't show. He glanced about furtively.

But when he turned back around, the docks were clear. The truck sat idling, still unsecured.

The door swung open again. "What the hell's taking you so-," the man froze, his words falling on forsaken land.

Suddenly, it was as though a piece of the night fell from the sky, landing atop of him. Shadow shoved one of her arms lengthwise under his chin, pressing down on his throat. Her feet hooked into his legs, rendering them immobile.

She waited silently, patiently, as he fought for breath. Once his eyes began to shine, she pulled back slightly.

"Do I have your attention?" she hissed.

"You little-," she struck him across the face before he could finish his thought. With surprising power, he bucked her off, rolling to his feet and making a mad dash for the cab. Just as he released the handle, she was on him again. They fell to the ground in their struggle.

But a massive, bloodthirsty beast streaked through the truck's open door. It leapt upon the fray, coming to the defense of its master.

Shadow cried out in agony as she felt a set of teeth sinking into her leg. The man pulled away, laughing victoriously. "Not a dog person?" he taunted.

It lunged for her throat next, snarling viciously. She blocked with her arm, but its powerful jaws were making quick work of her wrist guard. Her heart began to pound. She was unaccustomed to being on the losing side of a fight.

Suddenly, the dog relinquished its hold with a yelp. Electricity crackled as it fell to the ground stiffly.

Blake stood before the subdued animal, taser in hand.

"Not the dog!" an angry voice thundered. Blake turned in time to see a glock levelled straight at his chest. A gunshot rang out through the shipyard.

But it did not hit its mark. For at the last second, Shadow's batarang glanced off the barrel, sending the bullet astray. The man reeled in surprise, only for a moment. But that was all the time she needed to leap from the ground and tackle him into her lethal hold once more.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" she said through gritted teeth.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," he laughed dryly.

"I know all about you, Gambol," she snapped.

"Not me, you fool," he jeered. "He's crazier than all of us. That's why they call him the Joker."

Shadow paused, her curiosity piqued. "Why the drugs? Why kill off his own customers?" she asked earnestly.

"You think he's got a plan? This guy's got nothing. No rules, no honor, no friends."

"He's got you," she shot back. "Why save those crates for him?"

"What, you don't know?" Gambol laughed again. She rewarded his gall by slamming his face into the ground.

"The bank heist! I thought you coppers knew he had our money," he said, unfazed.

"I'm no cop," she replied, slamming his face down again. Only this time it was hard enough to knock him out.

She stepped away from the motionless body. At once, a searing pain shot up her leg. She doubled over, gasping sharply. Blood dripped from the mangled wound into the dirt.

"Are you alright?" Someone took her by the shoulders in an attempt to steady her. She drew away from the unexpected touch, looking up in surprise.

"Whoa, whoa, it's okay," Blake assured her. Silver moonlight fell across her kevlar suit, illuminating the contours of her lean muscles. Mud flecked the cape that rustled behind her in a stiff breeze. A mask covered most of her face, but two valiant eyes shone back at him in the darkness. There was a mysterious hint of sorrow in their depths.

"Where is your backup, officer?" she asked. "Gordon never sends his men out alone."

"Where's yours?" he countered. "Or was Batman busy tonight?"

She stiffened, caught off-guard. For a few moments neither spoke, for neither wanted to answer the other's question.

"I'm John Blake, by the way," he said finally, extending a hand in her direction. Slowly, she reached out and shook it. Shadow felt as if someone from the real world were looking at her for the very first time. It unnerved her in a strangely exciting sort of way.

Blake did not wait for her to offer anything in return, which was a relief. "So this Joker character," he said, recalling Gambol's words. "What kind of a man can make the mob work for their own money?"

Shadow's face furrowed in thought. Just then, a noise rang out behind them. Blake whipped around, searching the dark cautiously.

"I think we should-," he turned back towards her, but the shipyard was empty once more.


	18. A Souvenir

As Blake returned to the precinct the next morning, he discovered a curious throng of people on the steps. They surrounded a man who knelt on the concrete, hands bound behind his back. His suit, tattered and torn, looked as exhausted as his face. Around his neck hung a sign: "Deliver to Gotham P.D."

Gordon emerged from the crowd and helped the man to his feet. He met Blake's eyes with a mischievous glint.

"What's this all about?" Blake asked, coming to his side to assist.

"Lau, head of Lau Security Investments, and bookkeeper of the mob." Gordon answered. "See? I had a feeling it would all work out."

* * *

Shadow winced as she finished the last stitch on her leg. She covered the wound with a bandage, and then pulled her pant leg down over it. She didn't want Bruce or Alfred asking any questions.

"Shadow?" Alfred's voice echoed through the hall, signalling breakfast time. She rushed down the stairs, nearly bumping into Bruce.

"Hey!" he said warmly.

"You're back!" Shadow cried, genuinely happy to see him. It felt like he had been gone for longer than two days. She threw her arms around him, and he welcomed the embrace.

"How was Hong Kong?" she asked, eager to hear about his latest exploit.

"Well, I brought back a souvenir," he said. They started towards the dining hall together, arm in arm.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, but I left it at the police department."

Their laughs floated through the stony mansion, warm as a summer breeze.

Over Alfred's typical plate of English breakfast, Bruce told them all about his capture of Lau. Shadow's face glowed with admiration.

"You really think he'll talk?" she asked.

"He might as well. Maroni will never take him back."

"Then it's finished? The mob will be out of business for good?"

"For awhile, at least."

Shadow's smile suddenly faded. Bruce regarded her despondency with concern. "What is it?"

"There will be repercussions," she said sternly. "This will bring the full force of their wrath down upon you."

"I've always faced the full force of their wrath," he said. His own smile faded then. "It's Harvey Dent who will face the brunt of it now."

"Ah yes. Gotham's White Knight," Shadow said with an air of flippancy. "He seems to have captured Gotham's heart."

Bruce looked at her, surprised. "He's a good man, Shadow. He'll see to it Maroni and his men are put behind bars."

"Now that you've done most of the work," she said bitterly.

"So he finishes my battles," Bruce replied. "It's all the same war. He's a hero nonetheless, even if he doesn't wear a mask."

Shadow picked at her plate sullenly. She thought of Gambol's words. "What about the Joker? His name keeps coming up. He stole Maroni's money right out from under his nose. He got to that bank before Gordon and Dent could."

"He's a nobody. We'll worry about him later." Bruce polished off the last of his breakfast and rose with a stretch.

"A man who laughs in the face of the mob like that doesn't seem like a nobody," she insisted gravely.

"Well, he's just one person. We've got the entire mob to finish dealing with first." Bruce tried to reassure her, but he knew Shadow's onerous dedication would not let her relax. Then he remembered something that might help.

"Hey, by the way," he started, perking up. She looked at him suspiciously. "I'm throwing Harvey Dent a fundraiser this weekend." He grinned at her imploringly.

"Oh no," she groaned. "I hate parties."

"Come on! It will be at the penthouse in the city. Music, champagne, a new dress..."

"I'd rather leap onto a speeding train," she joked darkly.

"Well, with Harvey Dent there, I could use an extra pair of eyes," Bruce suggested.

"Now you're talking."


	19. Cheers

Chamber music drifted gently to Shadow's ears. She smoothed her satin green dress and took a deep breath, bracing herself. Then, head held high, she entered the soiree.

Lavish hor'dourves sprawled across tables like works of art. Champagne flowed endlessly from the white-gloved hands of butlers. Guests socialized with cloying smiles and gaudy laughter. It was a horrid scene.

Shadow slipped in and out of the crowds like a ghost, vigilant for signs of anything amiss. Then, a honeyed voice rose above the party din. Indulging her curiosity, she paused in front of its owner. His boyish blue eyes sparkled as he orated to a throng of fawning, captive listeners.

"You know," he said, clasping his hands together diplomatically. "When their enemies were at the gates, the Romans would suspend democracy and appoint one man to protect the city. And it wasn't considered an honor; it was considered a public service." Adoring murmurs ran through the crowd.

"Mr. Dent," Shadow piped up, unenchanted. "The last person the Romans elected was named Caesar, and he never gave up his power."

She felt the scalding stares of his fans. He shrugged, unfazed. "Well, you either die a hero, or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. At any rate, Batman is not working alone. Not any longer. I _will_ see to it that the criminals of this great city are held accountable."

As the masses cheered, Shadow's heart sank. His words had stung her in a way he did not intend. Just then, everyone's attention was diverted to a helicopter touching down on the observation deck. Bruce Wayne emerged, looking like a million bucks. A gaggle of super models followed at his heels. The scene collectively drew sighs of envy and admiration.

"Welcome, welcome!" a simpering Bruce Wayne addressed his guests as he strolled in. He winked at Shadow, who smiled back. It was good to see him, even if it was under pretense.

"Sorry I'm late, but I'm glad to see you all got started without me! Now, where is Harvey Dent?"

Dent emerged amidst a round of applause. "Man of the hour! You know, I remember those commercials he used to do, with that god-awful slogan: I believe in Harvey Dent." Polite laughter bubbled up. "But it got my attention. And the more that I paid attention to Harvey, and all that he's been doing as our new D.A., the more that I believed in him, too."

Shadow scoffed. She was used to his facetious speeches, but this was beginning to sound like genuine praise.

"Look at his face," Bruce continued. "That is the face of Gotham's bright future. So let's raise a toast!" He lifted a celebratory glass of champagne. "I believe in Harvey Dent!"

There was a clinking of glasses, followed by more rounds of enthusiastic clapping. But Shadow did not join in. She found herself surprised-and injured-at his speech. For years she had tried to elicit that sort of faith. What was it about Dent that he trusted so whole-heartedly? She watched as they shook hands, and a splinter of jealousy pricked in her chest.

The band struck up a lively waltz, inspiring Bruce to bow magnanimously to the woman on his right. She accepted his offer with a smile smooth as silk. Guests followed his lead, pairing off to dance while Shadow retreated, sulky and alone.

She made her way to a dessert table in the corner that afforded her contemplative solitude. A man was standing nearby, alone as well. It took her a second to realize it was Blake.

He nodded to her amicably, making no attempt at small talk. She regarded him out of the corner of her eye. He carried himself with a gentleness that was not timid, and a confidence that was not boastful. There was something soothing about his undemanding company as they stood together, watching the festivities idly.

Finally Blake turned to her. "May I?"

She stared at his upturned hand dubiously. Shadow found ballroom dancing to be cumbersome. But, she told herself, Blake might come in handy again some day. So politely, she accepted. They fell into rhythm with the other waltzers.

"It's quite a turnout for the wondrous Mr. Dent," she said, ineffectively trying to hide her bitterness. "Are you a believer as well?"

Blake laughed. "That imperious politician? No." She smiled, pleased with his answer.

"These types of parties aren't really my thing," he admitted. "But it sure beats chasing down a mob boss in the middle of the night."

She paused mid-step, her smile frozen. With his hand on the small of her back he urged her on so as not to draw attention.

Shadow cleared her throat. "Sounds like you have a rather adventurous life."

"The bandage on your leg," he said as if in answer to a question.

She silently cursed herself. "What of it?"

"The guard dog."

"You have a vivid imagination," she replied. "It's just a bandage."

"No," Blake said, unapologetically blunt. Shadow tilted her head at him quizzically. He leaned towards her ear, lowering his voice. "Someone who goes around saving people's lives in secret has a certain valor they cannot disguise. No matter how well they wear their smile like a mask."

Shadow's cheeks burned. She felt suddenly exposed, as though a cloak of invisibility had been torn away.

"It's alright," he assured, studying her silence. "Your secret is safe with me. I won't even ask for your name."

Intently, she searched his face. But she found only benevolence and sincerity written in its lines. Shadow smiled at him then, an honest smile that he appreciated and returned. They carried on waltzing for a few moments, basking in their newfound alliance. Suddenly, dancing was not so cumbersome.

From across the room, Bruce stole a glance towards Shadow, hoping she was not too miserable. He was surprised to see her dancing with a young man-and even more surprised to notice that she seemed to be enjoying it. Something bittersweet stirred in his heart. Perhaps she really was moving on from Batman's plight. She had always been there for him; it would be difficult to part paths. But Bruce knew that it was the best thing for her. He glanced at the pair one final time, memorizing the young man's face. He would have to do a background check later on.

"I must speak with you, sir." Alfred was suddenly beside him. There was something urgent in his voice that prompted Bruce to excuse himself from his dance partner right away.

Meanwhile, Shadow and Blake picked up their conversation once more. "Thank-you," she said to him. "For getting me out of trouble."

He balked humbly. "You did the same for me."

Her cheeks burned anew.

"So what about the Joker-have you learned any more about him?" she asked, shifting to business and hoping he didn't notice her blush.

Blake clicked his tongue. "Commissioner Loeb wants all our attention on the mob right now. He doesn't believe the Joker is a credible threat."

"What do you believe?"

He stared into her eyes as if reading them. "Same thing that you do."

Her lips parted in surprise. He was much more perceptive than she had given him credit for. He would make a good partner.

"May I cut in?" The pair turned, startled, and found Bruce at their side.

"Of course!" Blake conceded to his host with a rueful grin and then nodded farewell to Shadow. She felt an unexpected tinge of disappointment as he walked away. But Bruce did not take his place. Instead, he whispered a singular terse instruction:

"Get to the study now."


	20. No Laughing Matter

"Beg your pardon sir," an elderly man appeared at Harvey Dent's elbow. "You have a call waiting. They said it's urgent."

Dent set his drink down and then followed him away from the party. "Phone is on the desk, sir," the butler said, leaving him in a quiet little side room.

A young, dark-haired woman stood by the window, the one who had interrupted his story earlier. She turned, clearly surprised to see him.

Bruce appeared behind Dent before anything could be said, locking him in a superbly effective chokehold.

"What are you doing?" Shadow cried out, bewildered. Dent's eyes rolled back as he slid to the floor, unconscious.

"He'll be safe this way." Bruce said, dragging him into a closet and barring it closed with a broom handle.

"Safe from what?"

"The Joker. He's on his way up the elevator now. I believe he wants Dent." Bruce pressed a tile on the wall and a secret passage opened up.

"I need to suit up. Hurry," he turned, waiting for her.

"You'll need time," she said, making no effort to join him. "I can buy it for you."

"Shadow!" he reprimanded, his voice straining with urgency.

"There are good people back there! We can't leave them alone."

Bruce stared at her sternly. But he didn't have time for a battle of the wills. "Look, I...I may have been wrong about him." He took her hands in his with fatherly concern. "Don't draw too much attention to yourself, understand? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"I'll be okay," she promised, smiling up at him bravely. She placed a reassuring kiss on his cheek. "Now go."

Shadow returned to the party just as gunshots ripped through the air. Windows shattered. Women screamed. Guests huddled together, trembling in their gleaming formalwear. A band of thugs prowled the room, their faces covered by ghoulish clown masks. They pushed and prodded threateningly with their guns.

The Joker emerged from their menacing midst. He sauntered across the floor, sipping champagne and gobbling down appetizers that had been hastily abandoned. Shadow studied him contemptuously. There was something unsettling about his garish purple and green suit, his mangy hair, his haphazardly applied makeup. Heinous scars disfigured his face; painted blood red, they ran jaggedly from the corners of his mouth in a permanent, deranged smile.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he said, his voice as harrowing as his scars. "I am looking for Harvey Dent." His eyes flicked wildly around the room, waiting for a response.

"Hmm? Know where he is?" The Joker went down the line of quivering guests. No one dared to speak. "I'll settle for his loved ones," he added with a shrill laugh.

The Joker paused before an elderly man, who pushed his wife behind him protectively. "We aren't intimidated by a bunch of thugs!" he declared with shaky, misguided bravery. Shadow's pulse quickened.

"You know," the Joker mused. "You remind me of my father." He paused for a moment, as if in deep thought. Suddenly, he slammed a champagne glass onto the table beside him. The crowd jumped.

" _I hated my father_ ," he rasped, taking hold of the man violently and pushing a blade into his mouth. His wife cried out.

Shadow glanced over at Blake. His hand was inching towards his waist. But she knew he was outnumbered and outgunned. She had to create a diversion.

"Stop it!" Shadow shouted. The room fell silent. She swallowed as all eyes turned to her. It was too late now to obey Bruce.

The Joker swiveled slowly. His eyes lit up when he spotted Shadow. As he ambled across the room towards his new victim, the crowd backed away in terror. But Shadow stood her ground, glowering in righteous anger. Like an animal he circled her, staring hungrily. He shoved his nose into her hair, breathing deep. She winced with disgust but did not retreat.

Without warning he grabbed hold of her face. She fought his grip, looking away to catch Blake's eyes meaningfully. At her waist, she lifted a discreet hand. Blake obeyed the warning with reluctance. His complexion ruddied in frustration as he watched her abuse.

"Look at me!" the Joker demanded balefully. She complied, but was struck with a pang of fear when she glimpsed the twisted darkness within.

"I had a wife once," he said, suddenly nonchalant. He placed a knife to her cheek as he began to ramble. "She was a pretty little thing, like you. Who tells me I work too much. Who tells me I ought to smile more." The blade dug into her skin while he spoke. Shadow clenched her fists, resisting the urge to use them. She reminded herself to bide her time until Bruce could return.

"She just wanted to see me smile again," the Joker continued. "So I take a razor to my mouth, and I do this..." He turned his face to the side, displaying the wretched scars. "And you know what?" He paused dramatically, drawing his face close to hers.

"She couldn't stand the sight of me!" he roared, shaking Shadow angrily. She punched him in the gut, her patience for his lurid tale depleted. The clowns lifted their weapons, but the Joker waved them off with a crazed laugh.

"Ooh you've got a little fight! I like that!" He smacked his lips excitedly.

"Then you're going to love me," a voice rasped from behind them.

Shadow dove out of the way as Batman rushed at the Joker. His cronies began shooting wildly, sending guests ducking for cover behind tables and chairs. But not Blake. He kicked a gun from the nearest attacker's hand and drove an elbow into his face. Then, without hesitation, he went after the next one.

Hope flooded the onlookers as Blake and Batman made quick work of the murderous mob. When the last henchmen fell, Batman whirled in search of the Joker, who had slipped out of reach. His blood froze when he spotted him.

The Joker stood before a shot out window, the barrel of his gun pushed against Shadow's throat. She had been watching the skirmish so intently, she did not see the Joker sneaking up on her until it was too late. Shadow cursed herself for being so careless. But she did not try to pull away, believing he was crazy enough to actually pull the trigger.

Shadow cried out in surprise as he suddenly pushed her to the edge of the window. She struggled precariously in his grip, the wind whipping her hair around her face.

Blake's eyes flew wide fearfully. Batman took a cautious step forward. "Let her go," he ordered. Shadow could hear the distress in his voice; she agonized over his helplessness.

The Joker clicked his tongue. "Very poor choice of words!" he scolded, and released her without further ado.

Shadow plummeted towards the ground, writhing against the deadly emptiness that enveloped her.

"NOOO!" Batman hurtled forward and dove out of the window. He propelled himself downward with all his might. The ground rose before them, a black face of death. Finally, she was within his grasp. "Hold on!" he shouted desperately, flaring open his cape in the nick of time.

Together, they smashed onto the top of a car. The metal screeched and groaned as it buckled beneath them. After a few moments of stunned silence, Batman pulled away to get a better look at her. "Are you hurt?"

Shadow shook her head. "I'll be alright," she said, trying to quell the fear that still seized her. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing into the solid safety of his embrace. For several minutes, neither wanted to move.

Then the sound of devious laughter travelled down a nearby alley, disturbing their moment of relief. The Joker had escaped unscathed.

But so had they.


	21. A New Flame

Blake threw off his jacket and sat down at the desk with a sigh. It was difficult to concentrate on something as mundane as reports at the moment. Gotham had fallen into dark times. A despondent cloud hung over the city as the Joker rose to power. His stunt at the party was only the beginning. Later, both Commissioner Loeb and Judge Surrillo were murdered. The Joker's signature playing card was found prominently displayed at the scenes. Then came the disturbing video.

With the cries of a hapless hostage in the background, the Joker vowed that he would not stop killing people until Harvey Dent was turned over to him. He owned the mob, and nobody was going to take his fun away. Truly, he was a mad man.

Even though despair grasped at Blake's thoughts, he held fast to an ardent hope in the good people of Gotham. Batman had always come through for them. And now, they had another hero.

Blake pictured her dark, deep eyes. There was something in their depths, some kind of fire, that he could not forget. He remembered the way she handled Gambol and the way she stood up to the Joker. Her bravery in the face of danger inspired similar flames in the young man. He longed to be a part of her heroic endeavors. But his badge held him back. Gordon had already hinted once that he was not to get involved. Still, he had to see her again somehow.

The fax machine just outside of the doorway beeped to life, bringing his attention back to the task at hand. Blake straightened his shoulders. As he pulled the first file form his inbox, he noticed a colorful corner peeking out. Confused, he tugged on it gently. A ticket for the Gotham City Cinemas fell loose, clipped to a small note. Blake's eyes shone with anticipation as he read:

" _Thanks for the dance. Shame we were interrupted. Let's finish our discussion?"_


	22. The Silver Screen

The movie had already begun when Blake arrived. Dust swirled in the projector's stream overhead. A handful of people sat scattered throughout the theater, their faces intermittently illuminated by washed out scenes of the second rate film.

Blake spied her keeping company with the shadows in the back. He took the seat next to her, nodding hello. They regarded each other warmly.

"I'm glad to see you're okay," he said, making no effort to hide his relief.

"The Joker won't scare me off that easily," she smirked.

"No, I didn't figure," Blake chuckled softly. "Me either, for the record."

She flashed him an amused grin. Their conversation lulled comfortably for several moments. Tinney, dramatic music filled the theater.

"So what were you doing at a Bruce Wayne party anyways, officer?" she asked. "Do you usually rub shoulders with billionaires?"

"No, I prefer dark alleys and people in capes," he said glibly. "Actually, I went in Loeb's place. It wasn't his idea of fun, either."

Her face grew somber at mention of the late commissioner. Blake held her gaze comfortingly. "It's alright. We'll stop the Joker. I know we will."

Shadow's brows furrowed. She was unused to such optimism. "What makes you so sure?"

"When I was at the boys' home, there was this lady who used to serve us lunch. Bernadette. Best sloppy joes you ever tasted." She raised an eyebrow at his unexpected tangent. It made him laugh. "Anyways, she always used to tell us, 'let your hopes, not your hurts, shape your future.' It took me years to really hear her, though."

Her eyes softened. "You're an orphan?"

He nodded. "You too then?"

She was too taken aback to answer. Blake grinned. "It's just, most people are afraid to even say 'orphan.' The way you asked, it's like you knew the word well."

Shadow glanced at him sideways. "You have a gift, you know that? I've never met someone who could...well, who could read people like that. Especially me. Most people don't even see me."

His smile faded. A hint of pity entered his gaze.

"No, it's...it's supposed to be that way," she explained. It was hardly a justification. A few moments of silence passed. This time, they were not as comfortable. "I'm sorry," she finally said. "I'm not very good at conversations."

Reassurance emanated from his eyes. "I don't mind. Most people talk too much, you know? Everything they say is aloud. But you have a way of talking without saying anything at all. I like it."

Shadow's cheeks stung. She felt uneasy around Blake, but in an exhilarating way. It was as if she were standing on a precarious edge and had never before noticed until she saw him standing on the other side.

"So what about you?" he inquired. "Can I ask what you were doing at a party for the social elite? Judging by your waltz, you've been to quite a few."

Shadow sighed scornfully. "I've had practice, yes. It's an unfortunate part of the job."

"Well, there are worse things," Blake quipped.

"Only a few."

He burst out laughing, and she surprised herself by joining in. Usually she left the humor to Bruce and Alfred. For a few rare moments, the weight of the justice they shouldered lifted and they weren't anything but friends enjoying each other's company.

Again Shadow pictured herself standing on the edge of a chasm, Blake on the other side. She wanted to close the distance, but did not know how. So instead, she did what she was used to: she turned to business.

"Anyways, have the police finally started taking the Joker seriously?"

Blake nodded, sitting up straighter in his seat. "Yes. But we don't have leads on how to find him. You didn't happen to ask Gambol for the Joker's phone number, did you?"

Shadow's eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Maroni...he must know something about how to get in touch with the Joker."

Blake shook his head. "He runs the entire mafia. Even if we could find him, he'd never talk to cops."

"I'm not a cop," she said smugly. "He'll talk to _me."_

Blake grinned. "You know, I've never had a conversation with Batman, but I imagine you're a lot like him."

Her face radiated with pride. "I hope so," she said. "He taught me everything I know."

Blake's eyes widened. Shadow turned away abruptly, fearing that she had said too much. Then she felt his hand on hers.

"It's okay," Blake assured. His voice was soft and sincere. "What I said before still stands. Your secret is safe with me."

There was something trustworthy about the young man, even for one as aloof as Shadow. His presence had a way of banishing the loneliness that pervaded her life. And he demanded nothing in return.

"Shadow," she felt compelled to say. "It's not my real name, but it's what I am called by those closest to me."

A flattered smile made its way across his face. As she smiled back, she felt something marvelously foreign washing over her, something she did not comprehend.

But Blake understood. He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against hers. Then Shadow understood, too. Happily, she returned the kiss. She trembled with anticipation as his fingertips touched her face and wandered their way back through her hair. The chasm wasn't gone; they had both plunged into it. And for a blissful while they stayed in the back of that theater, exploring the new depths of their bond together.


	23. An Alternate Course

Shadow gazed out over the gently rolling hills of the estate. She basked in glowing memories of Blake. They had met nearly every day since the movie, doing wonderfully ordinary things together. Blake showed her the city's best ice cream parlor. She took him to her favorite park bench. Meanwhile, Shadow tracked Maroni's movements and waited for an opportunity to confront him about Gotham's newest villain.

The soft sound of footsteps on the grass pulled Shadow from her thoughts. Bruce sat wordlessly beside her, welcoming the evening air into his lungs. But his mind was troubled. Bruce had noticed a subtle change in Shadow ever since the party. She had become withdrawn, distracted. No longer would she wait up for him to return from his nightly patrols. No longer would she help him get ready for work in the morning. Instead, she would eat her breakfast hurriedly and then rush out the door with barely a glance back. He attributed Shadow's unusual behavior to her near-death experience.

As much as he tried to protect her, it seemed she always ended up bearing some of Batman's burdens. Even as a child, Shadow would never allow herself to be nurtured. It had always been about his plight. Guilt gnawed at his heart for keeping her from a life of her own. But she would never leave willingly, he knew. Bruce had spent the entire previous night reaching a difficult decision. It was time to let her go.

At long last he cleared his throat, signalling his intention to speak. Shadow fidgeted. She could sense his disquiet.

"I'm very proud of you," he began. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "You've been so dedicated to your studies."

She accepted the compliment with a nervous smile. Her conscience berated her for doing so.

"I was thinking..." he continued, a bit clumsily. "You outgrew Alfred's lessons long ago. Perhaps you would like to join a university, now that you are of age."

Her face fell. "Oh," she said with contrived enthusiasm. He waited for her to say more, but was met with awkward silence instead.

"You could return to Wayne Manor on every break, of course."

"What do you mean?" she asked, suddenly concerned.

"Well, the rest of the year you'd be in campus boarding facilities."

"Campus boarding facilities?" She could not hide her revulsion of the words.

His smile faded. "Shadow-"

"I'm being punished for the Joker's actions," she interrupted, biting her lip against a tide of bitter tears.

Bruce sighed plaintively. "Shadow," he began again, altering his course. "Gotham is in danger. The Joker will not be placated, even if he gets a hold of Harvey Dent. Men like him aren't looking for anything logical, like money. They can't be bought, bullied, or negotiated with. Some men just want to watch the world burn."

Gambol's words echoed in her mind. "I'm not afraid," she declared boldly.

"No, you do not lack the courage. You never have."

"And I have the training. _You've_ trained me," she insisted.

"He's already bested you once. I cannot risk something like that happening again." Bruce tried to push out the images that came to his mind, images of Shadow falling helplessly through the dark.

She looked away, anger boiling in her chest as Bruce carried on. "You were just a child when you came here. I often forgot how young you really were." He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she ignored the gentle touch. "I should not have leaned on you so heavily. Gotham is _my_ undertaking. I don't want to bury you because of it."

Shadow felt like a crumpled piece of paper: once useful, now tossed away in disdain. "Please," she implored him one last time, thinking of Blake and his hope in her. "Let me stay."

Bruce drew in a breath, steeling himself. "It's time for you to follow your own aspirations. There's a whole world out there beyond Gotham. You deserve to experience that. I'm sorry, but...you must go." The words wounded him, too. But he spoke them out of love. He spoke them to save her life.

"I tried to warn you," she said quietly, severely. "About the Joker." With that, she rose and stalked away from her mentor. Every step widened the distance between their hearts.

Bruce felt like he had been punched in the gut. He drew his gaze to the molten sunset, brooding in aggrieved silence. The hills cast lengthy shadows that crept towards the edge of the mansion. Its stony walls stood like sentries against the advancing night. One thing was certain: darkness was coming.


	24. Russian Roulette

Salvatore Maroni didn't look like a man on the verge of defeat. He stood on the balcony of the club with an air of self assurance that made even the most experienced gamblers sweat. Thick tendrils of cigar smoke curled towards the sky as he leaned casually on the railing, looking out over the rooftops like an emperor would gaze over his kingdom.

His smoking break was rudely interrupted by a combative figure that emerged suddenly from the dark. Maroni fought back viciously, and for several minutes he held his own. But his antagonizer was as elusive as a phantom. For every swing Maroni managed, a counter twice as punishing was delivered. Finally, he was pushed over the railing, held back by his necktie alone.

"From one professional to another, if you're gonna threaten somebody, pick a better spot," he said with steely indifference for his precarious position. "This height wouldn't even kill me."

"I'm counting on it," a voice rasped.

He pitched forward, falling to the earth with a sickening crunch of bones. Maroni yelled out in pain as his legs crumpled unnaturally.

A black mass landed beside him. It was then he got his first good look at his attacker.

"You ain't the Batman. Who are you, some wannabe?"

Her fist flew, smashing into the side of his face. He spit out a mouthful of blood, then turned back with a defiant smile.

"It's gonna take more than that, kid."

"I knew it would," she said, and reached back to pull a revolver from her belt.

"Whoa there," Maroni scoffed. "Batman doesn't use guns."

She smiled mirthlessly. "I'm not Batman, remember?"

She spun the cylinder slowly, the metal clicking like the rattle of a snake about to strike. "Five chambers. One bullet. You're a gambling man, right?"

He laughed in her face. "You ain't got the guts, kid."

She whipped him with the butt of the weapon. He groaned, but the arrogance remained.

"Come on," he goaded. "That's not how you use a gun."

"Is this better?" She held the barrel to his temple, pinning his chest down with her knees and pulling his collar taut with her free hand. "Now, I need the Joker."

Maroni looked into her eyes, unmoved. She squeezed the trigger.

CLICK. One.

For the first time, he betrayed a hint of nervousness. She hadn't even flinched. In fact, he caught a spark of sadistic enjoyment in her eyes.

"Okay, maybe you've got more guts than I thought. Bravo."

Her jaw clenched with impatience. "I'm short on time, Maroni," she said. "And so are you."

CLICK. Two.

Maroni's heartbeat quickened. "Look kid, I can't help you-,"

CLICK. Three.

"Have you ever seen a cat playing with a mouse?" An edge of desperation strained his voice now. "That's what this guy does. He's got no rules, no honor. If he killed the mouse, his fun would be over. You ain't ever going to stop that psychopath."

Shadow tightened her grip on his collar, cutting off his airway. "I hear a lot of words, but not the ones I'm looking for," she growled. He struggled for breath with all his might, nearly throwing her off. She loosened her grip, but drew back her other arm to pummel his broken legs with the gun. He cried out in agony, subdued once more.

"You know, I think I'll try asking some of your associates," she said with chilling nonchalance. The gun returned to his temple.

"Wait-wait!"

CLICK. Four.

She laughed cruelly. "You're a lucky man, Maroni! But all luck runs out eventually." Her eyes remained as cold and serene as an icy ocean.

Maroni was a prudent man. He knew when to fold. "Alright," he conceded. "There _is_ one way."

She listened carefully to his words, her lips curling in a triumphant smile. While he spoke, he could see her mind spinning as craftily as a spider spins its web.

Maroni finished and fell silent. But she did not move. He gritted his teeth against the pain shooting up from his legs.

"You have your answer. Now get out of here."

Her eyelids flickered, offended.

"Maroni," she chided. "Your insolence will be the death of you."

She squeezed the trigger again.

"No-!"

Five.

Maroni didn't move. Then, slowly, he let out the breath he had been holding and cracked open his eyes. She was gone, quickly as the mist that rose from the roofs. A grim laugh fell from his lips. There had never been a bullet.

"If you ever get tired of that ridiculous costume," he shouted to the shadows. "I might be hiring."


	25. The Office Meeting

Shadow stood before the small window, watching the city street bustle below. Citizens darted quickly between their cars and their destinations, scowling indignantly that the afternoon sky should storm.

She ruminated over Bruce's words. The Joker was the answer to her problems. She had no place in Gotham so long as he remained a threat. It was time for action; it was time to prove herself to her mentor.

A boisterous creak rent through the air as the door behind her swung open and then closed again. She turned, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"Shadow!"

She rushed over to the surprised Blake, taking an impassioned kiss from his lips. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned his face against hers.

"Not that I'm complaining-but what are you doing in my office?"

She looked up at him triumphantly. "I found him."

Blake raised an eyebrow. "The Joker?!" She nodded.

"We had it all along, Blake. The drugs-the Laughing Gas. Maroni reminded me-,"

"You found Maroni, too?" He balked. She flashed him a devious smile.

"I went back. I put trackers in a few of the crates. They're all at the same location: a half-constructed building on the edge of the Narrows."

He shook his head incredulously. "When do we go?"

"Right away, if we can."

"I'll tell Gordon now. Is Batman on the way?"

She hesitated, biting her lip. "Just give Gordon these coordinates; he'll pass them on to Batman."

Blake's expression sobered. "And you? Shadow, promise you'll wait."

She sighed resignedly, knowing it was the prudent thing to do. "Very well," she promised.

Blake smiled. "Hey, for good luck…" he drew her to his lips again.

Just then, the door swung open. Blake whipped around sheepishly to find Gordon standing in the threshold.

"Congratulations on the promotion, Commissioner," Shadow said, coming to Blake's side.

A slow smile spread across Gordon's face as he recognized her dark braid and even darker eyes. "Thank-you. I just wish it was under better circumstances."

"Still," she insisted. "I think Gotham is in good hands."

"Oh, I know it is," he winked. Grateful pride swelled in her chest.

"Well, I must be going," she declared, slipping Blake the coordinates and squeezing his hand farewell.

Gordon held the door open for her, nodding good-bye. After she had left, he turned back to his officer, waiting with an amused grin. The only sound came from the patter of rain on the window.

Finally, Blake cleared his throat. "So...we need to talk."


	26. Heroes and Villains

The building stood as a reminder of a businessman's folly. Halfway constructed, the lot was abandoned when funds dried up. A ghost before it ever had life, it sulked alone in a forgotten corner of the Narrows for years.

Then, someone came along and gave it a pulse. It was perfect real estate for a lunatic like the Joker. Dark, foreboding, and bowing under the weight of neglect, it appeared as though the building itself were descending into madness. Its walls were the last thing the Joker's hostages saw. Its floors heard every word of his villainous plans. Now, the address was no longer a bygone; locals whispered it was the gateway to hell itself.

A SWAT team surrounded the cold, colorless exterior. They felt as though the structure was scowling down upon them whilst they waited, listening for signs of life. None emerged.

Within moments, they burst through the doors. A cacophony of shouting and flash grenades cleft the silence. They braced for war, but found only dust and darkness in their path.

Several men branched off, flashlights and guns drawn. "First level all clear," a voice declared over Gordon's radio.

A nearby deputy straightened up. He looked at Gordon dubiously. "We have this on good word, sir?"

Gordon remained unflappable. "Just wait, Hodges. Nothing is as it seems with the Joker."

Blake met Gordon's eyes with a subtle smile, grateful for his faith. Then he turned back to the hulking, ominous silhouette. "Where are you, Shadow?" he whispered under his breath.

Nearby, Batman heard the call come in. He didn't like it. The building was keeping a nefarious secret.

"They're on the third floor," a voice whispered behind him. Batman was not accustomed to being taken by surprise. He whirled around, but could find no sign of an owner.

"They're waiting. I'm not sure why." The voice was feminine in nature, but rasped unnaturally to disguise its true tone.

Something moved in the dark. "Who are you?" he growled, instinctively tensing.

A figure stepped forward, dressed in shadows. She was much smaller than he. There was something familiar about her eyes, though they looked at him from behind a mask.

Just then, an explosion rumbled from within the building. The SWAT team had begun clearing the second floor when it gave way beneath them. Men yelled out in terror as they were swallowed by slabs of concrete and rubble. Dutifully, Batman flew towards the destruction.

A horde of thugs emerged, swooping down upon the wounded survivors of the blast in wanton violence. But just when the first victim was about to be claimed, his would-be killer was swept away by a black wind of justice. Batman had come to their rescue.

Gordon's men joined the war. A young officer gallantly took the lead, drawing away several of the Joker's men. He handled himself well, taking them on as they piled around him. But then, a colossal brute of a man landed a punishing blow to the side of his head. The officer fell, dazed. The giant bent down, pulling his gun from the holster.

Batman caught sight of his predicament. Before he could intervene, a figure landed in the fray beside the officer. She was no match for the attacker's size or strength, but she was as agile and lethal as a panther. She struck the gun from his hand and it wasn't long before she made her way onto his back, latching her arms around his throat. He smashed her against the wall, desperate for breath. But she held fast. Finally, he collapsed on the floor, unconscious. She landed beside her massive prey and tenderly helped the officer to his feet. Together, they plunged back into the battle.

Again, Batman was struck with a pang of familiarity. There was something about the way she moved; clearly, her training had been unique. His mind strained for a connection.

Then Batman knew.

He plowed through the criminals like a bulldozer. Shadow didn't even see him coming. Just as she knocked another ruffian out cold, he grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around, facing him. She looked into his eyes with a flutter of fear.

"Shadow?!" he seethed.

The bravery with which she had just fought evanesced in Batman's smoldering glare. She swallowed, unable to respond.

"What do you think you are doing?" he demanded, fuming with anger and betrayal.

Gunshots blazed through the air as a new wave of enemies poured from the stairwell. Shadow's eyes flicked to the side. A broken window caught her attention.

She looked back into his face with grim resolution. "What is necessary." She broke free from his grasp and ducked out of reach.

"Shadow, NO!"

She weaved through the murderous crowd deftly and disappeared through the window like a mist. Dread clutched at Batman's heart. She was going for the Joker.

He tried to follow, but was swept up in the onslaught of the Joker's army. He fought against the tide, driven to rage by the depths of his protective love. Shadow was out of her league. If she faced him alone, surely the Joker would kill her.


	27. The Joker's Game

Shadow slipped through a window on the top story, retracting her grappling gun as she landed. Silent as a mouse, she padded across the open floor to a walled off section at the end. Slowly then, she peered around the doorframe. The Joker was in her view at last.

He faced away from her, hands clasped behind his back as though he were bored. His shoulders hunched characteristically, wrinkling his lurid purple jacket. Shadow loathed the very sight of him. She glanced about the room. They were alone.

The Joker pivoted on his heel, sensing her presence. "I didn't expect _you_ to get here first," he said, giggling with delight. "It's an honor!" He bowed flippantly.

Her eyes narrowed as she stepped into the room. "You know nothing of honor."

The Joker licked his grinning lips. "True, true. It's such a silly old thing. I don't know why you caped crusaders insist on it so much."

"It's what separates us from animals like you."

He put a hand over his chest, feigning offense. "Like _me_? My dear sweet child," he clicked his tongue and sidled closer. Her mouth curled into a snarl. "You are more like me than you know."

"I am nothing like you!" she avowed, stepping sideways to circle him guardedly.

He laughed, a chilling and evil sound in Shadow's ears. "You came here, driven by some misguided sense of justice. You think what you are doing is fair? Justice is not fair! The only thing that is fair…" he cut across the room, drawing near to her. "...is chaos."

He reached out to pat her cheek, but she struck his hand away hatefully. Swiftly then, she grabbed the front of his jacket and slammed him against the wall. He cackled, reveling in her contempt.

"I am an agent of chaos," the Joker boasted, wrapping his hands around the fists that restrained him. "So really, you could say that _I_ am the hero you are trying to be."

"You are a murderer," she growled. "Where is the fairness in choosing which life to take?"

"It's just as fair as Batman deciding which life to save. You think you are making a difference out there? For whom-the good people of Gotham? WRONG!" His eyes filled with sudden animosity. "There are no good people. We are _all_ animals."

Shadow clenched her jaw, fighting to stop the wheels that his words were turning. Angrily, she threw him to the ground.

The Joker pulled himself up on one arm. "You rely so much on things like honor and duty," he lectured, sliding away from her slowly. "But how faithful is a hungry dog? Create enough hunger, and everyone becomes a criminal. The very people you love will turn on you like THAT."

"Enough!" Shadow commanded, a slight quaver in her voice. "Your reign of terror in Gotham is over." She kicked him in the gut, but with the wicked speed of a snake he grabbed her foot and twisted. She was tossed off balance.

Before she could recover, the Joker scrambled atop of her. He pulled a cattle prod from his belt and pointed it directly at her chest. Reluctantly, she yielded.

"No, dearie." His demented grin returned. "Batman and I are destined to fight forever. This is what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object."

Shadow despaired. It was exactly the destiny she sought to save Bruce from. The Joker's words seeped into her mind; she felt as though she were clinging to a ship in his twisted sea of darkness.

"There is only one way this war will end," the Joker taunted. "The question is…" he drew his mouth close to her ear. "Do you have what it takes? To do what he won't?"

Her eyes inadvertently darted to the gun in her belt. This time, it was loaded.

The Joker preyed on her hesitation. A zap of electricity blazed across her body. She writhed in pain while the Joker shrieked gleefully above her. He sprang to his feet, jolting her again and again.

Her muscles seized, her veins bulged, her lungs burned. But the Joker wasn't finished. He stomped his foot and a small blade sprang out from the sole of his shoe. Ruthlessly, he kicked her in the ribs with it. She cried out, anguished, as the knife sank into her flesh.

Batman heard her cry echoing above the din. His heart leapt into his throat. But the Joker's thugs hindered his every step. He fought them back direly, roaring in frustration.

"Come on!" the Joker taunted, pummeling Shadow with his fists. "How many more lives is it worth before one of you breaks your precious little rule? Is it worth _your_ life?" He stabbed her again with the bladed shoe. Shadow groaned in agony. She held her side as blood dripped through her fingers, draining her strength.

The Joker crouched beside her, exhilarated by the suffering he found on her face. "What about the life of your policeman friend?" he whispered menacingly.

Her eyes flew wide. He had hit his mark. Satisfied, the Joker slammed her head into the ground and then continued to beat her savagely.

At last he stepped away, pacing the floor like a restless cat. Shadow rolled to her side, panting for breath.

"What are you waiting for?" he jeered. "Are you counting on your master to come save you, like a faithful, foolish puppy? He will turn on you, too. Mark my words. Dogs are only useful so long as they are obedient."

Shadow's mind raced like a hurricane. She was defeated. She thought of the lives already lost, of the commissioner and the judge. But she did not want to join them. Her warrior heart flared in defiance. Gritting her teeth against the pain, she pulled the gun from her belt. There would only be one more life taken.

"Good. _Good!"_ the Joker praised. Upping the stakes, he produced a jagged knife from his jacket and strode towards her with slow, deliberate steps.

Blake emerged from the doorway. He had finally managed to break away from the tumultuous chaos, spurned on by Shadow's agonized cries. His chest tightened to see her lying on the ground beside a pool of blood, the Joker almost upon her.

Blake rushed fearlessly to Shadow's defense. He struck at the Joker's knife-wielding hand with his baton, but the Joker was too swift. He dodged and then lunged for the officer, a crazed glint in his eye.

Blake grabbed the Joker's arm to keep the blade from plunging into his chest. Shadow watched tensely as each scuffled for control. She looked to the gun in her hand. She alone had the control.

She did not see Batman appear. But he saw her. And he had looked enough killers in the eye to recognize the cold calculation on Shadow's face. He had to save her; not only from the Joker, but also from herself.

The next few moments happened as if in a dream. Steadying her hand best she could, she squeezed the trigger. Just then, a black flurry descended on her, and the shot was sent astray.

Blake fell to the floor.

"No…" she breathed. She watched in horror as the Joker leered over Blake's motionless body, a wicked smile twisting his lips.

Shadow pushed Batman off of her and hurtled towards the Joker, knocking them both to the ground. She would use her bare hands if she had to. The Joker didn't put up a fight; he welcomed her murderous hold on his throat with demented pleasure.

"Stop this!" Batman shouted, wrapping his arms around her chest and tearing her away. She clawed at his grasp, kicking her feet wildly and thrashing in vengeful anger.

Blake rolled over, the stun wearing off. He clutched his shoulder where the bullet had entered. "Shadow!"

"Blake!" she yelled, struggling to get to him. But Batman was dragging her to safety, leaving the hapless Blake behind with the Joker. As he pulled her down the flight of stairs, Shadow raged with all her might against her beloved mentor and father figure. In the hinterland of her mind, hatred spread its ugly wings. Fury set fire to her soul.

"That's enough, Shadow!" Batman bellowed. He pinned her to the landing, waiting for the storm to pass. She glared back at him, something frightfully foreign in her eyes. It was then he noticed a crimson trail running jaggedly up the stairs. He looked to her suit; the side was sodden with blood. She had been wounded.

Batman watched helplessly as Shadow's strength began to wilt. Her eyes dimmed. "No, no-stay with me!" he shouted desperately, gathering her into his arms. Her eyelids fluttered one final time, a groan escaped her lips, and then she slipped away into unconsciousness.


	28. The Fallout

When Shadow awoke again, she was in Wayne Manor. Her furniture made familiar shapes in the dark. Wearily, she tried to lift her head. Was that Bruce slumped over at the foot of her bed, asleep? Black, sweat-slicked hair clung to his forehead. Though he had removed his cowl, he remained suited up otherwise. Shadow sank back into her pillow as she succumbed to fatigue.

The next time she opened her eyes, Alfred was beside her. "You need your strength back," he urged gently, offering a spoonful of oatmeal. She groggily accepted. Her eyes drifted to the frame propped on her nightstand. A younger Bruce smiled back at her with a little dark-haired girl pressed against his side.

"The Joker," she said hoarsely, remembering. "Did they get him?"

"Shh, shh. don't you worry about him at the moment." Alfred gathered more oatmeal onto the spoon.

"Alfred, please," she protested. "I won't eat until you tell me."

He made an exasperated face. "You're as stubborn as Master Wayne," he said. But he drew in a deep breath, relenting. "The Joker vanished. There was no one there when Gordon reached the top level. Now eat."

Shadow's chest rose and fell sharply. "Blake…" she whispered.

"Blake?" Alfred echoed, holding the spoon aloft. She did not explain.

Several more days crawled by. Shadow remained in her room, Alfred her only visitor. Their interactions were brief and melancholy. But then, over a bowl of his famous clam chowder, his eyes finally sparkled with good news.

"It's finished, Shadow!" he beamed. She looked back at him dolefully. Alfred told her all about the well-executed plan. Gordon had arranged for a motorcade to escort Harvey Dent out of town, knowing that the Joker would catch wind of it. He took the bait. A spectacular chase ensued, and Gordon himself played a part of the heroics. In the end, Batman apprehended the Joker and brought him to justice.

"Justice…" she scoffed. Alfred titled his head at her quizzically. She did not seem heartened, like he had expected.

"Ahem." They both looked up to see Bruce darkening the doorway. Alfred glanced back at Shadow. Concern welled in his loving eyes. But respectfully, he rose and collected the dirty dishes.

Shadow listened as Alfred's footsteps faded away. The air grew silent and heavy with Bruce's presence. In his hands he held her blood-flecked mask. The sight of it filled the young woman with guilt, but she turned away, burying her guilt with anger.

"How long?" he finally asked. "How long have you been at this?"

"For months."

He bit down on his lip, stinging from the deceit. His mind flashed with memories of that awful night. He could still hear himself calling for help, calling for Alfred. He could still see his hands drenched with her blood. He could still feel the dread rising in his chest as her life force ebbed with every passing second.

"You could've been killed. You almost _were_ killed."

"At least I would've taken the Joker with me," she declared, keeping her gaze and her demeanor distant.

"Shadow!" he reprimanded. "I won't see you counted among killers. Don't you even realize what you've put me through? And for what?" His voice broke, anguished. "Why would you go behind my back like this?"

"I was doing it for _you!_ " she shouted, throwing off her blankets and standing to face him with a look of seething anger. "I did this so you wouldn't have to fight this war forever. But that's what you want, isn't it? You enjoy it too much to let me spoil your little game."

"This isn't a game Shadow," he warned.

"But isn't it? Always your rules, never my turn." She gripped a poster of the bed, trembling in exhaustion but trying to remain defiant.

He regarded her anew, as if she were suddenly a stranger. This belligerence was so unlike her. "You aren't seeing things clearly-"

"No, I'm seeing them right for the first time," she sneered. "And you can't stand it. You want to keep me in the dark, keep me as your little shadow while you stay in the spotlight."

"That's enough!" he bellowed. "I only wanted what's best for you, can't you see that?"

"You only wanted to control me! The way you control everything! You know why? Because you don't trust anybody. That's why I went behind your back. And now, because of you, I've lost the only person who truly believed in me!"

Bruce's eyes narrowed at the reminder of the young man. "How long have you and that officer been...involved?"

There was a momentary lapse in her defiance. "Did Gordon tell you?" she asked. Her voice wavered slightly.

"He didn't have to; I made my own connections. I looked Blake up after I saw him dancing with you at the fundraiser."

"The fundraiser?" Her voice rose with indignation. "You-you really do have to control everything, don't you? Am I not allowed to make other relationships?"

"That's not what I said-"

"Am I supposed to stay locked up in Wayne Manor forever while you get to prance around like the prince of Gotham?"

"He's a liability, Shadow," Bruce lectured. "You the know the dangers of employing the help of a civilian-"

"You mean like how you employed the help of Harvey Dent?"

"This isn't about me!" He huffed in exasperation. "Don't you realize what's at stake? How much does Blake know?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said bitterly. "The Joker will kill him and you know it. You think this is over because he's in a cell, but that won't stop him. Gotham will continue to burn. And that's what you want, isn't it? You would rather watch your city burn than give up your power!"

"The Joker brought this destruction to Gotham. I never meant for _any_ of this to happen."

"For _what_ to happen, exactly? Was it your mistake to train me, to give me these aspirations?" Shadow glowered at him.

Bruce closed his eyes and blew out a breath slowly. "Maybe," he muttered. His voice cracked with the pain of his admission. "Maybe I should never have brought you to Gotham in the first place."

Her face wrenched as if she had been punched in the stomach. " _What did you say_?" She took a shaky step towards him. "Say that again, Bruce. Say it to my face."

But he turned to leave instead. "That's enough for tonight. You need your rest-"

"I'm not finished," she growled. "Though perhaps you wish I was. Perhaps you wish I was dead after all."

Bruce paused. His hands clenched at his sides. Shadow saw his frustration; it merely fueled her hostility.

"And perhaps you're glad your parents are dead," she continued, almost smiling in her madness as she stabbed him with her words. "They would've only been a liability, too. Can't have anyone in your way, can you? Like me, like Blake-"

"I said that's ENOUGH!" he thundered, slamming his fist onto the nightstand. The picture frame fell forward, shattering. Shadow was startled into silence by his outburst. She bit her lip against a torrent of tears.

A device at Bruce's waist beeped then-Gordon was sending him a message. He collected himself, letting his demeanor cool again. But as he read the message, his face paled. Shadow's heart thumped with sudden concern. "What is it?"

Bruce looked up at her sternly. "Pack your things. You leave Gotham tomorrow." With that he was gone, leaving her in the dark once more.


	29. The Interrogation

The Joker was a nut who wouldn't crack. Gordon sighed as he sat across from the deranged glow on the villain's face.

"One more time, Joker. Where is my officer? And where is Harvey Dent?"

The Joker strummed his fingers on the table, humming gleefully to himself.

"Well, if we're going to play games, then I think I need a cup of coffee," Gordon said, standing with a stretch. As he reached the door, the Joker piped up.

"Oh I see. The old good-cop-bad-cop routine?"

It was now Gordon's turn to smile. "Something like that."

He left the room.

BAM. The Joker's face slammed into the table. Batman came out from behind him, sitting in Gordon's former chair with an air of austerity.

"Never start with the head," the Joker said, blinking several times. "The victim gets all fuzzy. He can't feel the next-,"

BAM. This time Batman drove his fists down on his outspread hands. But the Joker remained calm.

"See?"

Batman growled, unamused. "You're mad."

"Yes, yes I am. Madness is a lot like gravity. All you need is a little push." The Joker leaned across the table. "Want to know how I pushed her?"

Batman's eyes narrowed. Rage rose in his chest as he thought of the beating Shadow had received.

"She's a lot like you, you know. No sense of humor. A penchant for the color black. But not as strong, I'm afraid. She was much easier to break."

Batman leapt from his chair and hoisted the Joker by his collar.

"I knew she was your daughter the second you dove out of that window after her," the Joker said smugly, hanging in Batman's grip. "It's bad for business, to have a liability like that." He wagged a finger in Batman's face.

Batman hurled him into the wall.

"Don't worry!" the Joker laughed, sliding his feet beneath him. "I did you a favor! You of all people should know the danger of being on a team. So long as you have something to love, you will have something to lose. And a man with something to lose, is a man with something to fear."

Batman punched him several times, hard. The Joker laughed again as blood poured from his nose and mouth.

"Besides, this is between you and I. She was getting in the way, wasn't she? Her and that ambitious policeman. Now _there's_ a strong fellow."

"What have you done with him? And Dent?" Batman stood over him, enraged.

"He forgives you, by the way-for leaving him behind. She was his priority, too. What a shame! It's only a matter of time before he learns the liability of love as well."

Batman snarled and slammed him into the two-way glass. It spidered behind him.

"WHERE ARE THEY?" he roared.

"What time is it?"

" _What difference does that make_?" Batman's patience was wearing dangerously thin.

"Well, depending on the time, they might be in one spot each or several." A smug smile transformed the Joker's face.

"You lie!"

"I haven't lied to you yet. I'm surprisingly honest." The Joker's smile grew wider. Batman threw him to the floor and rained down his fists. But the Joker fed off his angry desperation. He loved every minute of it.

"You have nothing!" he raved. "Nothing to threaten me with! Nothing to do with all your strength. But don't worry. I'm going to tell you where they are. Both of them. And that's the point. There's only enough time for one. You get to decide: who do you save, and who dies?"

Batman leaned into him, waiting.

"Lover boy is at Avenue X and Cicero. The White Knight is at 250 52nd Street."

Batman rushed from the room. Gordon joined him. "I'll go after my officer. You get Dent." He motioned for a group of his men to follow.

As he reached the door of his patrol car, someone stopped him. Gordon looked over to see the piteously battered Shadow standing at his side. "Where is he, Gordon?"


	30. The Death of a Hero

Shadow flew through the streets, heedless of all else. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. Gotham melted away as she thought only of saving Blake. The dilapidated warehouse came into view at long last. Throwing the motorcycle aside, she raced towards the entrance.

A fireball erupted, hurling itself towards the sky as the world shattered around her. Shadow was swept off her feet, striking the ground painfully. "Noooo!" she screamed. Her face flushed in the heat of the flames. She pounded the pavement with her fists, ignoring the ache of her bones. Even the moon didn't dare show its face behind billows of ash and smoke.

Then someone was lifting her away. She did not resist as Gordon pulled her into his arms. "We tried, we tried. There was nothing more that could've been done," his voice broke mournfully. Shadow sobbed into his shoulder, desperate for a soft heart and a comforting hand. He obliged, holding her tight and stroking her hair soothingly.

But there _was_ something that could've been done. Where was Batman? If he had not stopped her bullet from reaching the Joker, none of this would have transpired. She thought of Blake's face smiling at her from the back of the theater. The pain infected her heart, poisoned her mind. Grief smothered a light deep in her soul, and a bond that had been forged long ago died in the cold of the darkness that flooded into its place.

Batman crashed through the door of the warehouse across town. "DENT?" he shouted urgently. A muffled noise drifted to his ears. He followed it best he could, fighting back the panic in his chest. Time ticked by, every second a threat. Finally, on a pile of broken crates, Batman found the bruised and beaten man. His hands and feet were bound. Blood smeared his uniform. He looked up at Batman with a tired smile of relief.

But it was not Harvey Dent.


	31. Choices

Bruce stood in Shadow's empty bedroom for the first time in months. He picked up the picture frame, righting it amidst the broken glass.

Alfred paused in the doorway. His face fell at the sight of his grieving master.

"I taught her how to be invisible, Alfred," Bruce said dejectedly. "I've looked everywhere-torn up half the world by now. But she doesn't want to be found. She's gone." He sat on the bed, wringing his hands.

The old man smiled at him encouragingly and came to his side. "Give her some time. I gave you seven years," he nudged him with his elbow. But Bruce did not take heart.

"Listen," Alfred said, taking a fatherly tone. "We all make our own choices. Shadow needs to make hers."

"I fear what that will be," Bruce said. His chest heaved with a sigh as he thought back to their final argument. The foreboding darkness in her eyes haunted him now. "What if I pushed her over the edge? Was I wrong to bring her here? To make her a part of this?"

The old man did not waver. "You loved her as your own. That wasn't wrong. She _will_ find her way home again."

"I don't know, Alfred. Maybe she shouldn't." Bruce replied bitterly. "This is what I wanted, after all."

"No. No it isn't. You wanted her to be safe," Alfred pointed out. "And I can relate. You think I enjoy watching you take a beating night after night? Perhaps Shadow tired of it as well."

But Bruce did not hear him; he could only hear his grief. Alfred clicked his tongue in a resigned fashion. Life at Wayne Manor would never again be the same. Shadow's absence had left a stark silence in its halls and a poignant void in their hearts. But the old man clung to a stubborn hope that one day, the silence would be broken.

* * *

Blake sat on a bench near the edge of a park. It was Shadow's favorite bench. Day after day he had waited there for her. Meanwhile, the world around him just carried on as if she had never even existed.

"Hey, sonny!"

Blake looked up, startled. Gordon was striding towards him. The young man shifted, making room. The commissioner sat down with a grateful nod.

"Look," he said, clasping his fingers together. "Is there any way I can change your mind? About quitting the force?"

Blake smiled appreciatively. "I'm sorry, Gordon. But no."

"No one would blame you of course, after what you've been through with the Joker." Gordon's voice exuded a fatherly sort of concern.

"It's not that," Blake insisted. He set his jaw, trying to think of the right articulation. "I don't think being a policeman is for me anymore. There's just...there's a point out there, when structures fail you. When rules aren't weapons anymore, they're...they're shackles, letting the bad guy get ahead."

"We got the bad guy, Blake. He's been transferred to a special prison outside of Gotham. We won't hear from him again."

"There will be others." Blake's eyes darkened.

"That's what Batman is for. He hasn't let us down yet."

"He's barely shown his face these last few months."

Gordon nodded slowly, a reluctant acknowledgment. "Blake, there's...there's something I have to tell you."

He turned expectantly. "What is it?"

"She was there-on the night of the explosion. She was there for you. We thought you were in that warehouse. When it went up in flames, she...well, I tried my best to comfort her, but she was inconsolable."

Blake squeezed his eyes shut. His heart ached to picture her mourning beside the wreckage.

"And then she was gone. Like a ghost. Batman came to me a few nights later, looking for her. I guess I was the last person in Gotham City to see her."

Blake nodded but said nothing. Gordon clapped a strong hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, kid. Really I am. I should have listened to you from the beginning. Maybe then we could've caught the Joker sooner…"

"Don't," Blake said. "This was all that maniac's fault. Not yours."

Gordon's face remained grave. "Well, there hasn't been any sign of Harvey Dent either. They say the fire may have been too hot to leave anything behind. But something doesn't feel right." Frustration seeped into his words. "Gotham has lost enough heroes. Please, Blake."

The young man looked at him with a bittersweet smile. "At least we still have you."

Gordon shook his head, accepting defeat. "Well, thank-you. For everything." He stood from the bench and smoothed out the wrinkles on his jacket. "You were a fine officer. One of the best on the force. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me." He squeezed Blake's shoulder in a silent farewell and then left the young man alone with his thoughts once more.

Blake watched him disappear into the city bustle. He wished he could've been more plain with his words. But he bore a secret too sacred to share. He had grown weary of the limits of his badge, of not being allowed to follow his intuition freely. He needed to be an agent of the night, to stretch his wings. Yes, Gotham had lost enough heroes. But it was about to gain a new one.


	32. Seeds of Change

"There's someone waiting for you in the study, Master Wayne."

Bruce scowled, looking up from his meditation. "You know I don't like visitors, Alfred."

"He was very insistent," the old butler replied. "And...perceptive." Bruce stared at him quizzically, but Alfred offered nothing else on the subject.

"How can I help you?" Bruce asked with a hint of annoyance as he strode into the room.

A man was waiting in a chair by the desk. He straightened abruptly. Bruce estimated him to be in his 20s, with jet black hair and bangs that hung over his forehead. Admiration shone from two pale blue eyes. He stood respectfully and proffered a hand.

Bruce ignored the gesture, taking up post by the window instead.

"I wanted to thank you, sir," the young man said, undeterred.

"For what? I don't even know you," Bruce lied. He recognized the young man just fine. But he didn't wish to be reminded of certain memories.

"Yes, sir, you do. You're the one who pulled me from that warehouse eight months ago."

Bruce froze, his back still to his visitor.

"I think you have me confused with somebody else, kiddo."

"I'm not here to play games, sir," came the straightforward reply. "I respect you too much for that." He drew in a breath, gathering courage. "I respected her, too."

Bruce turned around, jaw clenched. But the young man stared back unapologetically, open to Bruce's scrutiny. A silent understanding of each other's roles in Shadow's life passed between them.

"She told you?" Bruce asked, coming round to his chair.

"No. She never betrayed your trust," he assured. His host looked relieved, but also remorseful.

"Then how did you know?"

"I'll tell you. You see, when I was a kid, my mom died. It was a car accident, I don't really remember. But my dad-he got shot a couple of years later over a gambling debt. I remember that one just fine." Blake smiled wryly. "Not a lot of people know what it feels like, to be angry in your bones. I mean, they _understand_. Everybody _understands_ -for awhile. But then they want the angry little kid to move on. So, after awhile, they stop understanding."

Bruce felt something welling in his chest. It drew him to the fellow orphan who sat before him, baring his soul. It was as if he had glimpsed Bruce's soul before, too.

"But I figured it out. See, you have to hide the anger. Put on a smile. Practice that smile in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask." He leaned forward, looking into Bruce's eyes. "Shadow was wearing that mask when I saw her at Harvey Dent's fundraiser. So were you. Your true faces are the ones criminals fear."

Bruce blew out slowly. "Perceptive…" he mused to himself, agreeing with Alfred's assessment. "So what's your name, kiddo?"

"John Blake, sir."

Bruce became aware of a new bond that stirred to life like a seed in a deep and wounded place. He grimaced, reminded of that which had been uprooted.

"Well, you're welcome John Blake," he said, clearing his throat and rising suddenly. He made for the door.

Blake's face fell. "Sir! There's something else-,"

"I said you're welcome!" And then he was gone.


	33. Heads Up

After what happened to Harvey Dent, nobody was willing to prosecute members of the mob. They sidled back into their old ways, slowly regaining their foothold in Gotham's underbelly-and in its offices. Despite Gordon's staunch leadership as commissioner, a few bad apples remained. Among the most rotten was Detective Wuertz.

He hunched over his whiskey on a dull, overcast day. The sun had failed to show, muting everything in a lackluster gray and making the bar appear even more depressing and derelict than usual. The tinny sound of a boxing match floated from an ancient television in the corner. The door opened and closed, flooding the hovel with a brief blare of afternoon traffic. Wuertz didn't bother to look up; there wasn't much worth the effort to a man like him.

Footsteps approached from behind the bar. A shadow fell across Wuertz, disturbing his sullen solitude.

"Listen, bud-," Wuertz began crossly. But the words died in his throat and left his mouth ajar.

"D-Dent?!" he stammered. "I thought you was dead!"

"Only half," the man grunted, downing Wuertz's whiskey. One eye stared at him icily, sitting beneath a perfect, golden brow. But the other gaped from its socket, the flesh around it shriveled in disfigurement. The entire left side of his body suffered the same wretched mutilation.

He slammed the empty glass down in a mangled fist. His other hand, smooth and steady, levelled a pistol against the bar. Wuertz trembled with a flush of fear.

"Look, it was nothing personal-,"

"SHUT UP!" barked Dent. He basked in the triumph of his long-awaited moment. "You were supposed to drive me home again. It was over. IT WAS OVER!"

Wuertz flinched. "I swear I didn't know what they was going to do to you," he insisted earnestly.

Dent's lips twisted in a cruel smile. "That's funny, because I don't know what's going to happen to you either."

He withdrew a coin from his pocket and spun it on the counter between them. Wuertz looked on with morbid curiosity. The warble grew more and more punctuated as the coin's trajectory slowed.

"Hey! What's going on here?" The bartender appeared from the kitchen. Dent promptly turned and shot him in the chest.

"Oh Lord!" Wuertz clutched his own chest in shock. The coin landed, a charred face looking up from the counter.

A second shot erupted from Dent's gun. The boxing match continued its drawl from the corner as a puddle of blood rolled down the bar to the dingy carpet below.


	34. Try Again

Batman landed on the roof of the police department headquarters, a faint rustle the only sign of his presence. Above, the sinister silhouette of a bat stretched its wings in a halo of light. He glanced about, looking for the familiar rumpled trench coat of Commissioner Gordon. He often stood near the beacon, hands on his waist in pensive patience. Tonight, however, someone else was waiting.

"Does Gordon know you are doing this?"

A young man stepped from the shadows. "No sir. But you didn't let me finish the other day. It was the only way I could think of to get a hold of you again."

Batman scowled. "I have nothing more to say to you." He retreated to the ledge, his cape billowing behind him like a storm cloud.

"Harvey Dent. He's alive," Blake opened boldly.

Batman paused, but did not turn. His terrifying silhouette reminded Blake of a gargoyle glowering over the city.

The young man drew in a breath. "Have you heard of Detective Wuertz?"

Batman bristled. "I don't answer your questions, kiddo."

"He was tasked with driving Dent home after the motorcade chase," Blake pressed on. "He swore he did, but some of us at the precinct had...suspicions."

Batman waited for a point, his impatience palpable.

"Wuertz was murdered last week. Two more cops have been found dead since then. All had ties to Dent."

"Harvey Dent was no murderer," Batman declared defensively. "I knew him. He was a good man. His death was Gotham's loss."

Blake stood his ground. "No, sir. I believe he escaped before the building exploded, and I think he is exacting revenge."

"That's one hell of a supposition."

Blake clicked his tongue and looked away. "Look, if I'm right, he'll be going after Maroni next."

"The mob doesn't need your help," Batman retorted. "And neither do I." He disappeared from view with a single, silent leap.

Blake sighed, exasperated. He wandered to the edge, gazing down upon the river of brake lights that ebbed and flowed through the concrete jungle. He had expected Batman to be difficult, but not downright impossible.

"Well," he mumbled under his breath. "I'll just have to warn Maroni myself."


	35. Worthy

Blake groaned. The back of his head throbbed like a jackhammer. He cracked an eye open, but it didn't make a difference-wherever he was, it was pitch black. His memory slowly returned, and with it, a sense of urgency. Things had not gone according to plan.

*An hour earlier*

Maroni stood on the edge of the balcony, taking his wonted cigar break. He leaned heavily on a smooth, polished cane-a permanent reminder of an unfortunate encounter in that very same spot.

Things were looking up for the mob boss. Both Harvey Dent and the Joker were out of the way. Business was booming. Batman still deterred some of his men, but Maroni noticed that his vigilance lacked the same dedication lately.

"Salvatore Maroni," a voice rasped from the shadows.

He sighed, annoyed. "And who the hell are you?" He turned to see a mask that was not the one he remembered. But no answer came. Instead, his cane was swiftly knocked out of reach. At seemingly the same moment his face slammed into the metal grating of the balcony floor.

"We need to talk," Blake declared, subduing the struggling man.

Maroni laughed brazenly. "You think I wouldn't learn from her little stunt?" he quipped. Just then, two brutes charged through the club door. Blake leapt to his feet, pulling an escrima stick from over his shoulder. As it came into contact with the first of Maroni's guards, it sent a blue web of electricity through his chest. He seized in pain, collapsing to his knees.

The second one swung a massive fist in Blake's direction. He dodged, lashing out a leg to sweep his adversary off balance. Simultaneously, three more men stormed onto the balcony. Blake fought back zealously, felling several more. But Maroni's men continued to flood around him. Blake was in too deep. Soon he found himself curled on the ground, shielding his head against a furious rain of blows.

Maroni picked up his cigar and puffed patiently. He let them give Blake a memorable beating before waving them aside.

"What is with this town, huh?" he scoffed. "It certainly attracts the looney." Blake pulled himself to his knees, coughing and spitting up blood. "Now, get him out of here," Maroni ordered, dropping his cigar and snuffing it out. Two of his henchmen grabbed Blake by the arms and began to drag him away.

"You're making a mistake!" Blake called desperately. "He's coming for you! You're in danger!"

Maroni smiled broadly. "You should be a little more worried about your own neck, kid." With that, something struck the back of his head and the world turned black.

* * *

Blake struggled in the jostling darkness as his senses returned. He was in the trunk of a car, bound and gagged.

The vehicle rolled to a stop. The brakes squealed in his ear, renewing his urgency. Blake strove with all his might to get a hand free, but the rope only dug further into his wrists.

Any minute now would be his last. He closed his eyes, quelling the panic that thundered in his chest. The trunk swung open.

"I told you to stay out of this."

Blake peered up cautiously. Batman was glaring down at him. But his irritated scowl only filled the young man with relief.

Batman cut away at his bonds, none too gently. "What were you thinking? You could've been killed," he scolded. "Why would you try to protect a criminal like Maroni anyways?"

Blake removed his gag with a newly freed hand. "The same reason you saved the Joker," he panted, throwing his feet over the edge of the trunk to sit up. "If I can save a life, I will. It's not my place to judge how worthy that life is."

Batman paused. He looked upon the battered man anew. Begrudging approval seeped into his eyes. A hint of a smile glowed in the corner of his mouth. The kindred bond stirred to life once more; this time, he could not deny it.

He held out a hand, which Blake grabbed gratefully, and helped him out of the car. "Come with me. You'll need a better suit."


	36. A New Beginning

"With all due respect sir, don't you think you're taking this bat metaphor a little too far?" Blake quipped as the two men stepped out of the elevator and into the Bat Cave. Bruce sighed and shook his head.

The young man ventured into the damp depths, taking it all in. A vast arsenal of weapons and gadgets caught his eye. He wandered past the aisles, his face shining with boyish wonder.

"Don't touch anything," Bruce warned just as his young accomplice reached for a collapsible periscope. Blake refrained with a sheepish smile.

Bruce sighed again and drew himself up to the supercomputer. A clacking of keys echoed against the rocky sides of the cave. The blueish light of the screen cast a glow over his studious face and touched a small, black object nearby. It sat apart from everything else, as if left behind. Blake's curiosity piqued.

"Harvey Dent's accounts have all been closed. No activity. What makes you so sure he's alive?" he turned, obscuring Blake's view of the mystery object.

"Intuition sir," he replied unapologetically.

Bruce stared back, unconvinced. "Look," he said finally, clasping his hands together. "Harvey Dent was a good friend of mine. He believed in justice passionately."

Blake stayed his course. "Most villains don't start out mad at the world, sir. Dent was almost killed. And then his life's work went down the tube. That's a good reason to be mad, don't you think?"

"What do _you_ know of villains?" Bruce asked pointedly.

Blake drew up his shoulders with indignation. "I was a cop, remember? I've seen Dent's story a dozen times. People who fight and fight, only to lose. That passion, that fire-it turns on them."

Bruce's forehead furrowed in thought as he sat quietly for a minute. "You're beyond your years, kiddo," he mused approvingly.

Blake beamed at the unexpected compliment. "So what do we do next? About Maroni? Clearly, he doesn't want to talk."

Bruce rose from his chair. A smug smile spread across his face. "He'll talk to _me_."

Blake felt as though he had heard this conversation before. Something pricked at his memory. A movie theater. A mingled sense of trust and admiration. Her breath on his lips. He shook his head, clearing the bittersweet thoughts from his mind. "Then when do I get my suit?"

"Training first," Bruce said sternly, walking towards the young man.

Blake's eyes narrowed. "Come on sir, I'm not-," Before he could finish his sentence, Bruce hooked his foot behind his knee and threw his shoulder to the ground. He waited only a moment for the shock to dissipate before continuing his attack.

Blake went on the defense. It was all he could manage, for every strike he attempted was thwarted with exquisite precision. After several grueling minutes, Bruce relented.

"As I thought," he said, helping the breathless Blake to his feet. "We have a lot to work on."

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" the young man retorted, running a hand along his bruised ribs.

Bruce ignored him and started towards the elevator. "You're welcome to stick around in the meantime."

Beaten as he was, Blake smiled at the man's back. This was going to be a partnership for the books.


	37. Waiting

For several weeks, Bruce kept tabs on the mob even though part of him still doubted Harvey Dent was behind anything. Blake's incident had at the very least succeeded in Maroni tightening his security. Batman would have to wait for the right opportunity to approach him now.

In the meantime, the halls of Wayne Manor brightened like spring after winter's siege. Alfred was grateful to have a young ward again, one who accepted his fostering as readily as his cooking. Though Bruce maintained his aloofness, even he found Blake's presence a heartening one.

As often as they could, they trained. Blake learned quickly from his mistakes, proving himself a gifted student. Those grueling hours strengthened their natural bond. But memories held Bruce back. Occasionally he could see a dark-haired little girl practicing, her mouth set in a determined line and her cheeks glistening with perspiration. While he grew to depend on Blake's staunch company, he sometimes resented it for not being hers.

When nothing ill came to pass, Maroni and his men wearied of their watchfulness and slipped lazily back into their old ways. Harvey Dent knew they would; he had been waiting for it. It was time to complete his revenge.


	38. Packy White

Author's note: To my guest commenter and Ninjachick465-you guys are the best! And I totally agree about the third movie; I find myself hanging on to every tiny interaction Bruce and Blake have and craving more. I wish they'd make a Nightwing movie where they get to focus on it but Christopher Nolan has already said he is going to leave the Batman universe alone. So I knew for sure I wanted to include that in my story! Also, Alfred is totally a saint. I feel like he and Gordon are underestimated most of the time. So glad you are enjoying the read! I hope you continue to!

* * *

Keys jangled in the front door of a small, cruel man by the name of Packy White. He shoved his way through to the familiar darkness beyond. Rain battered at bleak windows. A TV without a stand waited for him in front of a tired couch. He grabbed a couple of beers for dinner and kicked the fridge closed. But just before it shut, the light spilled over onto the silhouette of a man standing in the corner.

White's blood froze. The beers shattered on the floor at his feet. Heedless, he scrambled to a nearby drawer and rummaged through it desperately.

"Don't be stupid, White," a voice rumbled through the dark. "Your Ruger isn't there anymore."

White felt along a grimy wall in search of a switch. But as soon as light flooded the tiny kitchen, he regretted it. Before him stood not a man but _half_ a man-and half a monster. His eyes looked as cold and merciless as the gun in his hand.

"You's supposed to be dead!" White squeaked.

"And you're supposed to be in jail," Harvey Dent replied.

White backed away, his eyes flicking to the sides for something he could use as a weapon. But the abysmal apartment was as sparse as his character.

"I'll testify," he grovelled. "I swear, I'll-,"

"I'm done with the courts," Dent sneered.

White swallowed. "You wouldn't kill an unarmed man, would ya? Give me a chance, please!" he begged.

Dent smiled mirthlessly at the pathetic man. "Yes, chance," he mused aloud. He withdrew a coin from his breast pocket and held it aloft. "It is the only thing that is unbiased...unprejudiced...fair."

He flipped the coin and caught it in a fist without removing his eyes from White. Slowly, he opened his fingers.

"What are you's doing?" White asked apprehensively.

Dent's gaze shifted briefly to the coin. He clicked his tongue in acceptance. "Giving you a chance," he answered.

White balked. "I-I don't understand."

Dent lowered the gun and strode towards him. He dropped the coin back into his pocket, retrieving a cigar instead. "Here, for your trouble-" he extended it towards the quivering man.

White took it slowly, suspiciously. "Just like that?"

Dent straightened his jacket and turned to leave. "Don't worry," he assured. "We're square." The door groaned as it closed behind him. Silence resumed.

After several stunned minutes, White shook his head. "Tonight's your lucky night, Packy," he said with a morbid chuckle. He put the cigar in his mouth and pretended to be his boss, Maroni. Then he pulled out a lighter. "Time to celebrate!"

An explosion engulfed the apartment. Its wicked flames licked at the black sky and extinguished the rain that dared challenge its fury. From where he watched, Harvey Dent nodded in satisfaction. So far, the scarred side of his coin had spared no one. At last, he would put the mob out of business once and for all.


	39. Masked Memories

Inside the Bat Cave, a ferocious battle was waging. Master and student leapt from boulder to floor, splashing through the shallow depths of the tributary. Blake moved deftly over the terrain, blocking Bruce's mighty blows as he tried to put distance between them. But Bruce followed effortlessly, driving him up against a wall. The undaunted Blake rolled between his master's feet, coming up behind him and taking his back.

"Yield!" he ordered with a triumphant smirk.

Bruce promptly threw him over his shoulder, twisting him into an armbar as he landed. He laughed heartily at the disappointment on Blake's face.

"You're getting better," he encouraged, releasing his hold and helping Blake to his feet. Drops of water mingled with the sweat on their faces. Their muscles ached in tired satisfaction. Side by side, they made their way to the platform.

Bruce picked up a towel, rubbing at his face and neck while Blake collapsed on the padded desk chair nearby. A comfortable silence lulled between the two men, broken only by the din of the cave's waterfall.

"So, am I ready?" Blake asked, anticipation brimming in his smile.

"No."

The young man's smile faded. "Come on, I almost had you-,"

"I said no."

The mood shifted. Then something caught Blake's eye-and his memory. It was a small, black object resting in the shadows of the desk. Sorrow flitted across his face as he picked up the blood-flecked mask.

Bruce stiffened. "Please," he said, quietly but firmly. "Put that down."

"You never talk about her, you know. Why not? What happened?"

"I don't answer your questions, remember?" Bruce threw the towel around his neck as if to end the conversation.

Blake winced, wounded. Being in Wayne Manor had made him feel closer to her in a way. Every corner hid a small reminder of the life she had left behind-a life of growing up in the shadow of Gotham's greatest hero. But Bruce was recalcitrant to acknowledge that life, despite being surrounded by ghosts of it.

"She left me, too," Blake said, rising from the desk.

Bruce's eyes whipped up angrily. "No," he replied, seething with sudden bitterness. "She thought you were dead. She _knew_ I was still here."

He turned away and made for the elevator. Blake hurried to follow, withstanding the scalding stare that resulted. "Do you have any idea how much Shadow looked up to you? What are you so mad about that you won't even say her name?"

"I never asked her to be like me," Bruce snapped.

Blake remained stolid. "No, you didn't _ask_. You _inspired_. What's so terrible about that?"

"She almost died, Blake!" Pain crept into Bruce's voice at the memory of her unconscious, bloody body draped over his arms. "She wasn't ready, and neither are you. I'm just trying to protect you guys. I can't afford to have any liabilities out there."

"Are we really the ones you're trying to protect?"

Bruce froze. "What did you say?" he asked, stepping towards the young man menacingly.

The elevator came to a stop. There was a grating sound as the doors slid open. Beyond its threshold, the music room lay dark and still. Its silence was almost deafening.

"People can be more than just liabilities, if you trust them," Blake finally answered. "I know the risks that come with putting on that mask. So did Shadow, and still she chose to wear it. Now please-why would she leave?"

Bruce balked at the young man's gall. "Fine, you want to know the truth? She left because I _told_ her to leave." He stalked out of the elevator and away from Blake's confused, conflicted gaze.

"But-then why were you looking for her?"

Bruce stopped but did not turn around. He let his silent question linger in the air.

"Gordon told me you were looking for her, after the explosion." Blake explained. He saw his mentor's shoulders sink.

"Because she didn't just leave. She...she disappeared." Bruce's voice broke against the lump in his throat. "And she made it clear that she didn't want to be found. I lost her, okay? Not by the Joker's hand, but by my own. That's what happens to the people closest to me-I lose them."

Blake walked towards him slowly. "You can't keep shutting people out. That's not the answer, Bruce."

"And what is?" He asked the question facetiously, but there was a trace of earnestness behind it, too.

"To love people. Love them even though you're going to lose them. Trusting others won't keep them safe, no, but it will keep Gotham safer. You don't have to do everything alone."

His words pried Bruce's anger loose. He buried his face in his hands, shaking with guilt and grief. Tears spilled quietly from their banks, his pride no longer a sufficient dam. Blake rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering silent, steadfast company. A feeling of solidarity stirred in both of their hearts at the touch.

"You don't have to suffer alone, either," Blade added softly.

Bruce pulled the young man's arm towards him and threw his own around in a return embrace. No more walls stood between them. At that moment something fell into place, something forged in their souls, that would change Gotham's future forever.


	40. The Lunchtime Appointment

To my guest commenter: I love your idea for the third movie! I think the motivations are a lot clearer. A lover scorned is a compelling story, especially with a background in the League of Shadows lol. The twist with Rachel's death would be cool, too. That's a really neat way of putting it-how Gotham is Bruce's mistress. You should write your own fan fiction story! I'd totally read it! :-)

* * *

The restaurant's atmosphere was unusually subdued. Jazz music drifted through the dusty air to heedless ears. Men with suits and cigarettes sat at checkered tables, casting anxious, furtive glances towards a solitary figure. He brooded over a plate of his favorite pastitsio alone, unable to relish the meal.

A ruckus broke out near the front of the hall. Maroni sighed in irritation as his men flew into tables and walls. Batman plowed through them with intimidating ease, making straight for the mobster.

"At least you came through the front door," Maroni said. "Not like those two rascals of yours." He waved the rest of his men away.

Batman released the collar of a trembling gangster. He fell to the floor and scurried out of reach.

"You're late, by the way," Maroni chided, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

"I don't make appointments with criminals," Batman growled, crossing the now-clear floor.

"Not for me. For my wife." He looked up at the caped crusader with a hint of emotion. "That fellow who took a ride in Anton's trunk. What was he blubbering about?"

Batman took the seat across from Maroni and stared at him shrewdly.

"Harvey Dent," came the deadpan answer.

Maroni balked. "That guy is a goner. Terrible night, that was," he said with a cruel smile. "Now, are you gonna tell me who really took Sofia?"

Batman remained impassive. A slow, bitter acceptance crossed Maroni's face.

"You better hope you find that son of a bitch before I do," he warned, squaring his jaw.

"Where was she taken from?" Batman questioned, ignoring the man's impudence.

Maroni pulled out a cigar and puffed away patiently before answering.

"She loves this little dress shop on the corner of Grant Street. Spends a fortune every time. I swear, she'll put me out of business before you do," he said with a wry laugh. "It's the only reason I let the owner live."

Batman rose. "Dent will be coming for you, too. You should turn yourself in to Gordon for protection."

The mob boss leaned back, working on his cigar some more. "You know I'd never do that. So why aren't you taking me with you?"

Batman's lips twitched with a hint of a smile. "Because Gordon doesn't need the aggravation."

Maroni's trademark laugh followed Batman as he made his exit. "Did you get all of that?" he asked into a communicator at his wrist once he was clear of the restaurant.

"Yes," Blake's voice answered. "I'm almost to Grant now."


	41. Grant Street

To NinjaChick456: That's a cool idea, if Maroni was the one to capture her and he didn't even know who she was-can you imagine the repercussions from Batman and Blake? Hahaha! I promise we will indeed be seeing her again, and pretty soon! But I have her entangled with a different villain, who we will also meet soon :-). I'm very excited about delving into the next (and final) phase, which will begin after the next chapter. I hope you like it!

* * *

A purple sky enshrouded Gotham in evening. One by one, the humble little shops on Grant Street closed for the night, their lights winking out to join the encroaching darkness. But one shop's light did not go out. Despite a closed sign in the window, Eli Suthers continued to toil. The rotund man sat before enormous billows of taffeta, his stout fingers surprisingly nimble and delicate. In the familiar comfort of his beloved work, the unfortunate events of the past few days faded from his mind. That is, until a hand grasped his shoulder.

He leapt to his feet, wheezing from the surprise and fumbling for a gun hidden in his apron. The pistol looked absurdly small in his meaty fist, but the intruder took it seriously nonetheless.

"Who are you?" Suthers bellowed, eyeing the stranger suspiciously. A formidable, chiseled suit covered the man's body. It was black as night except for a cobalt bird that stretched its wings regally across his chest. A similar silhouette covered most of his face. The hilts of two escrima sticks peered over his muscular shoulders.

"I am Nightwing," he declared, staring back levelly at the tailor and his gun.

"So Maroni has masked men of his own now?" the man jeered.

"I don't work for Maroni," Nightwing replied. "I work for people like you. People who find themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time." Suthers' demeanor shifted.

"I just have some questions. Please." Nightwing stepped towards him, reaching slowly for the gun. The tailor's face wrenched with indecision. But he capitulated, allowing Nightwing to remove the pistol from his grip. There was something inexplicably trustworthy about the stranger's presence.

"Does this have to do with Maroni's missus?" Suthers asked as Nightwing set the gun down on a nearby counter.

He nodded. "Did you see who took her?"

A shudder involuntarily gripped the portly man. "Never seen something like that before," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I went into the back to get her order. But when I brought it out, she was lying on the floor and some kind of...some kind of...Frankenstein was hunched over her."

"Frankenstein?"

"Yes, I swear!"

Nightwing mused for a moment. Then he pulled a small photo from his belt. "Is this the man you saw?"

The tailor took the photo and studied it diligently. "Well…" he trailed off. "Maybe. The man I saw, it was like he had _two_ faces or something."

His listener grew more and more unsettled. "What happened next?"

"He told me to deliver a message to Sofia's husband. To find her at the place where…" his eyes grew distant, searching for the exact words. "Something about where flames met skin, where death met life...it didn't make no sense."

A connection sparked in Nightwing's mind. "You told Maroni this?" he asked with sudden urgency.

"Of course!" Suthers scoffed. "I wanted to keep my teeth in my mouth."

"Thank-you," the masked man said, bowing his head to the befuddled tailor and making for the door. "Oh, by the way," he added over his shoulder. "You should get that broken window fixed."

Suthers' expression blanked. "What broken window?"

"The one I used to come in." And just like that Nightwing was gone, slipping into the darkness as easily as a shadow.


	42. Face Two Face

Batman and Nightwing cautiously made their way through the wreckage. Though most of the debris had been cleared, the skeleton of the blasted warehouse remained. Here was where flames met Harvey Dent's skin, forever altering the White Knight into something more sinister. Here was where hope died, and a new evil life rose from the ashes.

The building's corpse groaned in the wake of a bitter wind. A frightened whimper arose from somewhere nearby. Both men paused, calculating the location of its origin.

Batman's heart skipped a beat to see tresses of dark hair cascading over the form of a woman. She trembled in a chair with her hands bound behind her. Could it be-?

Nightwing rushed forward. "Shh, shh, it's okay," he soothed, brushing the hair from her face. Sofia Maroni looked back at him, frightened and disoriented. Someone moved in the darkness beyond.

"Nightwing!" Batman warned. The young hero whipped around, poised and ready. The figure sauntered towards them. Sofia's whimpering grew louder as a beam of moonlight fell across a disfigured face.

"Harvey Dent," Batman said mournfully. "Why?"

His former ally laughed, though the sound was empty of joy. "Do you ever get tired, my friend?" he taunted. "It's like every step we take forward, they drag us back two more."

"This is not the answer," Batman urged. His eyes darted to Nightwing, who stood protectively in front of the terrified woman. They exchanged fleeting glances.

"You are a good man, Dent," Batman continued, trying to keep the attention on him. "You gave this city hope." Nightwing slowly moved towards the woman's bonds.

"STAY WHERE YOU ARE!" Dent ordered. He opened one of his hands to reveal a detonator. "Or there will be nothing left this time."

Nightwing froze. His heart thumped in his chest.

"You used to speak of principles, of morality," Batman continued, his voice straining direly. "This...this is blatant cruelty."

"The world is a cruel place," Dent replied. "And the only morality in a cruel world...is chance." He withdrew a small coin from his pocket, keeping it in the same hand as the detonator. "So I'm going to give him a chance." His other hand pointed a pistol at Nightwing.

"No!" Batman shouted. "If someone must be punished for your suffering, then punish me. I did not get to you in time. I could not save you."

Dent ruminated for a moment. "Very well," he said, turning the gun towards Batman. He flipped the coin in the air and let it land on the ground. A scarred face looked back at him.

"What a shame," Dent said coldly. He fired the gun.

The straight shot tore through Batman's suit. Plumes of dust rose in the air around his fallen body.

"NO!" Nightwing yelled, clenching his fists in futility. His chest heaved as he stared at Batman's motionless black mass.

"Your turn," Dent said with chilling indifference. He flipped the coin again. But just as it left his fingers, another gunshot rang through the air. The bullet glanced off of the coin, skewing its trajectory. Instead of striking his heart, it burrowed into his arm. Dent's fingers opened in pain and surprise. The detonator tumbled to the ground.

Nightwing wasted no time. He rushed forward, kicking the detonator out of reach and tackling Dent.

"Get out of the way, hero!" someone shouted. Maroni emerged, his gun still aimed at his wife's kidnapper. "He's not going to get away with this."

Nightwing held on to the struggling Dent, keeping his body between him and the mobster as best as he could.

"No one else has to die," he stated. "Take your wife and leave."

Maroni clicked his tongue. "You don't give _me_ orders. Not in my town. Now, step away or I blow both of your brains out."

"Nightwing glared back defiantly. "No."

Sofia sniffled. "Please," she pleaded. "Let's go home."

For the first time in his life, Maroni hesitated. "Listen, you don't have to die for this scumbag. Last chance!"

The masked man did not waver.

"Very well," Maroni mumbled. But before he could pull the trigger, he was buried beneath a furious, black avalanche. Batman wrenched the gun from his grip and promptly dismantled it. Blood dripped from his bullet wound, but Nightwing could see now that it had been shallow enough to be non-lethal. He blew out a sigh of relief and smiled at his mentor, who winked back. Then the young man set about restraining Harvey Dent with handcuffs.

"Come along," the dark knight said to Maroni as he dragged him to his feet. "Turns out we're going to pay Gordon a visit after all."


	43. Rising

The last few embers of daylight smoldered in a plume of evening colors. Night began its encroach over Gotham. It was almost time for the city's heroes to begin their vigil.

Bruce stood before a gaping window, bearing witness to the sun's majestic death. Footsteps roused him from his contemplative silence.

"Ready?" Blake asked, coming to his side.

"Yes," Bruce answered without removing his gaze. Blake glanced at him inquisitively; his mentor seemed distracted.

"I know it can't be easy, losing Harvey Dent all over again. He was your friend."

Bruce turned, surprised. Blake's astuteness never failed. "When I first took up the mantle of Batman, I pictured my adversaries always being strangers," he sighed. "It never gets easier, to lose someone to the darkness."

"Dent was not the first?" Blake asked, intrigued.

Bruce's face clouded with memories. "I was lost once, without a purpose. There was a man who took me in. He taught me to confront my inner darkness." He held Blake's stare. "He was Shadow's father."

The young man's eyes widened. He listened intently as Bruce recounted his time in Bhutan and the days leading up to the creation of Batman. In Blake's heart something burned, an admiration akin to what Shadow felt on the plane ride to Gotham all those years ago.

Bruce went on to explain more about their history, including the fight that drove her to leave. In return, Blake told him about the incident in the shipyard and their following collaboration. Bruce listened raptly, humbled by her secret successes.

But he was also racked with guilt for not having recognized her strength sooner. He had imparted her with every gift he could, and then withheld trust. If only he had given her the same chance he had given Blake. Then perhaps they would all be standing there together.

The months wore on, and soon it had been two years since her disappearance. Meanwhile Gotham became acquainted with its newest hero, Nightwing. He patrolled the streets dutifully with Batman. Under their vigilance the city flourished-as did their partnership.

Little did they know of what was stirring just below their feet-and who. For deep in Gotham's underbelly, a new evil was rising.


	44. Into the Darkness

"At this rate, we'll be chasing down overdue library books!" the commissioner joked one night. He stood with Batman on the rooftop of the police headquarters, surrounded by swimming city lights. Things had been quiet lately, other than a mysterious rise in delinquent teens.

Batman didn't seem to appreciate the jest. "What about that kid that washed up on the riverbanks-any leads yet?" he asked with his wonted air of austerity.

"Nobody wants to talk," the commissioner replied. "I just hope none of the others turn up like that." He sighed and took a sip of the coffee growing cold in his hand. The night was unusually brisk and clear, dappling the sky with stars that wavered in the murky depths of the Milky Way.

"I suspect someone dumped him into the sewers, for him to wash up where he did," he continued. "Makes me wonder what else is down there."

After a prolonged and pensive silence, Batman removed a small device from his belt. "If you're planning on finding out, take this with you," he instructed.

Gordon examined the emergency beacon. "Got any more of these? Maybe for the _real_ expensive library books…" He looked up again but Batman was gone.

The commissioner chuckled to himself and then finished his coffee in thoughtful silence.

* * *

Late the following afternoon, Gordon and a couple of his men pulled up in front of a liquor store. A storm had blown in, blotting out the sun. A boy loitered on the curb. His hood was drawn up against the cold and his tattered shoes were sullied with mud. Upon sight of the police car, he straightened nervously. "It's alright, son," Gordon assured, approaching him slowly. "Your name is Mark, right?" No answer. Gordon's fatherly nature pitied the look of fear on the boy's face. He sat down on the curb beside him. "Look, I don't want any more kids to wash up like Jason did. I understand you guys were friends?" But Mark didn't seem to be listening. His eyes had latched onto something across the street.

The commissioner followed his gaze. Two rough-looking figures were watching them from behind a newspaper stand. Gordon stiffened. "You worried about them?" he asked quietly. Mark nodded.

"I want you to go with my officer here. He'll keep you safe," he said to the boy. He stood and motioned for his other officer to follow. They waded through traffic, making their way to the newspaper stand. "Hey," Gordon called out to the two men. But they weren't interested in talking. Throwing down their papers, they dashed away fast as they could.

Without skipping a beat, Gordon and his officer followed. They sprinted down the slate gray street under an equally gray sky. Their relentless feet consumed several city blocks before the perps ducked into an alley.

"That's a dead end," the commissioner noted, slowing to a stop. Guns withdrawn, they closed in cautiously closed. "What-?"

Silver clouds reflected off of a large puddle on the ground. A garbage can quivered in the path of an ambitious breeze. Other than that, the alley was empty.

"Batman can fly. Maybe criminals can too," the uniform suggested wryly. But Gordon was staring at a manhole cover near the back wall. Wheels turned in his mind.

"They didn't fly," he said finally. "They went the other direction." He walked over to the cover and removed it with a strain of effort. "Let's go!" he ordered, perching himself on the ladder's top rung.

He and his officer descended into the darkness, leaving the safe surface behind. They pulled out flashlights, wielding them opposite their guns. Two beams of light cut swaths through the stifling black. "Which way do you-," Gordon was interrupted by something striking the back of his head. He fell the ground, knocked out cold.


	45. A Prisoner

Gordon wavered in and out of consciousness as he was dragged between the grip of two thugs. He caught glimpses of ragtag, teenage crews and armed guards lining the tunnels, part of a nefarious underworld.

They entered a central chamber of some kind, where he was thrown brutally to the ground. He groaned from the impact and pulled himself to his knees. It was then Gordon noticed a giant sitting before him, whose face hid in the shadows.

"Why are you here?" an accented voice slithered through the damp air. It seemed to be obscured in some strange way. But Gordon could not trust his ears, for they still rang from the blow to his head.

"Answer Bane when he speaks to you!" one of his captors shouted, kicking him in the gut. He curled onto his side in pain.

"I was asking _you_ ," the dastardly voice sneered.

Gordon's two captors shifted uncomfortably. "We brought you the police commissioner," the smaller one proffered. "We thought you'd be pleased."

Bane rose out of the darkness. Even the shadows seemed to flee as he stepped towards them menacingly. "You brought him HERE?" he seethed.

Fear pounded in Gordon's chest. The man's eyes shone with pure evil. A diabolical breathing apparatus covered his mouth and nose, its tendrils wrapping around his shaven head like a parasite. His enormous muscles rippled in the dim light, muscles capable of killing a man in a single stroke.

"He chased us down here. W-we didn't know what to do," the object of his wrath stammered.

"So you panicked."

"No, we just-," but before the man could finish his sentence, a colossal hand snapped his neck.

"Search him," Bane ordered the survivor. "And then I will kill you, too."

The man's face blanched in terror. Still, he obeyed. Just as he began rifling through Gordon's pockets, a scuffle broke out somewhere beyond them. Bane turned, clenching his fists in fury. "The prisoner!" he roared. "The prisoner has escaped!"

A flock of guards rushed to the chaos. Gordon looked up; all attention had been diverted from him momentarily. He must act now.

His fist landed on the unsuspecting jaw above him. While the thug recoiled in surprise, Gordon clambered to his feet and made his getaway. The chamber erupted in gunfire, spurning on his urgency. He made it to the threshold when suddenly, a hot pain seared across his back. Gordon fell to the ground with a cry, his escape cut bitterly short.

It was not long before someone reached the hapless commissioner. They grabbed him up roughly, but instead of bringing him back to Bane, they pushed him into the dark of the tunnels. "Come on, come on!" they urged in his ear. "We have to get out of here!"

Angry voices echoed off of the walls, filling the air frightfully. Gordon's bullet wound smarted. He tried his best to carry some of his own weight, even as blood loss was taking its toll. They travelled through the sinister labyrinth for what seemed like centuries.

Finally, they came to an intersection of tunnels that webbed out over a raging waterway. His rescuer leaned him against the wall and trotted ahead in search of the best route. Gordon tried to catch his breath, fighting against the despair that pressed in around him. He knew he could not go on much longer. Then he remembered-he had one option left. Quickly, he fumbled for the emergency beacon at his belt. A reassuring beep answered.

Soft footsteps approached as his mystery companion returned. He looked up to see a familiar braid of dark hair draped over one shoulder. Hope restored its place in his heart. "I knew you'd come home," he said with a tired smile.

Shadow looked fondly upon the commissioner, giving his hand a squeeze. Concern seeped into her eyes when she caught sight of the blood pooling from his wound. The voices grew louder, swarming the darkness around them. "Can you continue?" she beseeched him.

Gordon tried gallantly to stand, but stumbled back into the wall when his strength gave way. "I'm sorry," he said through clenched teeth. "You'll have to go on without me. I can't walk."

She heaved him over her shoulder without further ado. "Then you'll have to swim!" she declared, plunging them both into the water below.

Gordon floundered against the current as it swept them away. He gasped for breath, clinging to life as Shadow clung to him. "I've got you!" she shouted, doing her best to keep his head above water even at her own expense. They tumbled through the swirling fury, lost in the rapids for what seemed like forever. Finally, ashen evening light flooded Gordon's vision. They had made it to the outside world.

The concrete banks turned to natural ones. With a great heave, Shadow pushed Gordon towards a nearing outcrop. He clutched at a tangle of branches that hung over the side, feeling for the mud beneath his feet at the same time.

But Shadow lacked the strength to follow suit. "No!" Gordon shouted, grasping for her desperately as the current pulled her away. Helpless, he watched her head slip under the frothing surface and disappear from view.

The river slammed her into the side of a boulder, jarring every bone in her body. The relentless flow pinned her in place. Her chest burned, aching for a single breath. Shadow's final seconds were closing in, and she raged against them with all her remaining might. But it was not enough.

Then, a hand plunged below the surface and gripped her wrist. With solid strength, it lifted her out of the current's lethal hold. Merciful evening air flooded her lungs as she sputtered and coughed atop the boulder. At long last she noticed a pair of formidable boots crouching beside her. Shadow's heart skipped a beat to realize she recognized those boots.

Batman gathered her into his arms. He held her against him tightly, as though afraid she might be just a figment of his hopeful imagination. She rested her chin on his shoulder, closing her eyes in weary, grateful relief. Tears joined the water that dripped from her face.

Meanwhile, someone had grabbed hold of Gordon's hand as well. He looked up and found Nightwing pulling him to safety. "Thank-you," he panted, collapsing onto a patch of cool, dry grass. But Nightwing was distracted, for he was watching the reunion intently. A strange smile danced at his lips. There was something familiar about that smile, Gordon thought.

After a few moments, Nightwing turned to him amiably. "Come on commissioner," he said. "Let's get you to a hospital."


	46. The Stakes

"Here you go," Bruce said, wrapping a blanket around the young woman's shivering shoulders. Her eyes seemed darker than he remembered; they wandered about the Bat Cave with sadness in their depths. He lifted her chin for an examination of her face, to which she quietly complied. Bruises marred her familiar features. Crude stitches closed an ugly wound over one brow. Bruce winced at the evidence of her treatment.

"Who did this to you?" he asked, a protective rage underscoring his tone. Yet instead of answering, she looked away. "Shadow-"

"Don't," she warned, stopping him short. He tried to read her reluctance, but she hung her head in reticent silence. Bruce stepped back, giving her space. He decided against pressing her further, at least for tonight. She had been through enough for one day.

"Look, it's okay," he said. "You're home now. I couldn't ask for more than that." He placed a kiss on her forehead. Unexpectedly, she threw her arms around him.

"Thank you," Shadow mumbled, burying her face in his chest. Whether she was referring to his words or what transpired at the river, he did not know.

For a long while they remained thus. He could feel how much she needed the comfort, the closeness. Finally, she spoke again.

"Bruce?" Shadow waited for his acknowledgment without lifting her gaze.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"What I said. Before…" Her chest heaved with shame. "I shouldn't have talked about your parents like that. I shouldn't have said those awful things-"

"I know you didn't mean it," he assured her. "And I should've recognized the Joker's work. I should've been a lot more understanding. These last couple of years...I've learned a few things."

She met Bruce's eyes for the first time. "Me too."

Just then they were interrupted by a roar. The Bat Pod tore through the waterfall, landing on the platform with a final growl of its engine. Shadow leapt back, startled. She turned to question Bruce, but he had already left for the mansion without her. She did not see the way he smiled first.

The stranger dismounted and crossed the floor under Shadow's wary eye. She took up an air of assertiveness like armor. "I've heard of you," she declared, noting the cobalt blue silhouette on his suit.

"Have you?" he asked, looking oddly amused. It irritated the young woman. She tensed as he came to a stop before her and stared brazenly. Shadow's eyes narrowed to slits.

"You're just going to leave the Bat Pod like that?" she lectured. "You should spray it down before the mud dries. If you want to be a good steward of Bruce's things, that is."

He chuckled softly, furthering her vexation. "I was too excited to see you to worry about the Bat Pod."

"Well, now you've seen me," she snapped. "And no doubt we'll see even more of each other." Her face wrinkled as if chagrined at the fact.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to it." There was a sincerity behind his statement that racked Shadow with guilt. She knew her resentment stemmed from an old wound and not his behavior. But she did not want to warm up to this stranger. His presence was new and awkward and incongruent with her memories of home.

He shook his head and laughed suddenly. "You two are so much alike, you know that? Bruce used to treat me just like this, at the beginning." He took another step forward.

She took a simultaneous step back, maintaining their distance. "And how's that?"

"Like you hate the fact that I'm not somebody else."

She froze. For some reason, his astuteness angered her.

"It's okay. I understand why he did it then, and I understand why you're doing it now. But there's something you should know-" He reached for her hand.

"Don't touch me," she growled. "You don't know me _or_ what I've lost." She turned away, finished with the conversation.

"You're wrong," he called out after her. "I know you, Shadow. But you don't know who I am, do you?" There was a tinge of disappointment in his voice.

She came to a stop in front of the elevator gates. "I said I have heard of you. You are Batman's partner, Nightwing."

"Yes, I am. But _you_ never called me that."

She whipped around. The young man was advancing towards her once more. "What...what do you mean?"

His gaze lingered for a moment longer. Then, he reached up and removed his mask.

"Shadow...it's me."

Her lips parted, but no sound escaped. She staggered backwards under the weight of the realization. "No," she finally gasped. "It can't be…" There in front of her was a face that had long since turned to poison in her blood. "You are Nightwing? You have been him all along?"

"Yes. It was you who inspired me."

Shadow closed her eyes, letting the pain run its course through her tormented conscience. "But...I lost you…"

"The Joker switched addresses," Blake explained. He drew nearer with slow, deliberate steps. "I wasn't in that warehouse when it exploded."

A shudder seized her body as the anguish of old flames returned. Blake reached out and stroked her cheek, trying to soothe her. She flinched, unused to the gentleness of the touch. "It's okay," he whispered. He leaned closer, brushing her lips with a tentative kiss. But she backed away from him abruptly, bumping against the wall.

"Shadow?" he implored, stinging from the rejection.

"You don't-you don't understand," she stammered.

"Then help me to," Blake pleaded, searching her face. She turned to hide from his keen eyes, but not before he saw the shame that darkened hers.

"You used to believe in me," she said, shaking her head dejectedly. "I'm not the hero you think I am. Not anymore"

"You could've drowned out there, trying to save Gordon. You don't think that was heroic?"

"I've been gone for two years, Blake! Aren't you going to ask me what I've been doing all this time? Or are you afraid to?" Though there was anger in her voice, he knew it was not meant for him.

"When we first met, I promised I wouldn't even ask for your name," he said, his words landing dangerously close to her walls. "I trusted you to tell me in due time. I still trust you, Shadow. I don't need to ask you anything."

She hung her head and trembled where she stood, feeling like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. "Please," she begged. "I need some rest. I'm...I'm sorry…"

"It's alright. It's okay. You um, you must be exhausted." Blake could feel something change in the air between them. It was as if they were suddenly strangers again. "Here, let me help you to your room."

He offered her a hand, which she accepted begrudgingly. But as the elevator gates closed, Shadow realized that she did not want to let go. Neither did he, for clutched her hand tighter still. The wind rushed over them in silence, batting stray strands of hair around the young woman's face. Without thinking, Blake reached up and brushed them away. His touch, so gentle and innocent, struck down her walls and left them lying in rubble around her heart.

"Blake-" She meant to say more, but there were no words that felt right. A stream of tears ran freely down her cheeks as she found herself hoping that he understood anyways. Hoping that he felt it, too.

"I know," he whispered, lacing his arms around her waist and pulling her close. "I know." She wrapped her arms around him as well and continued to cry. They returned to a sweet, familiar place together.

When the elevator gates opened again, Blake led Shadow to her bedroom door. "Here you are," he said, still not letting go of her hand. "Alfred always insisted on keeping it clean and ready for you."

Her heart gave a thump at mention of the dear old butler. "Is he doing well?" she asked.

"Oh yes." Blake gave her an exasperated look.

"Still sarcastic and cynical all hours of the day then?"

"No, actually," Blake said. "Sometimes, he's sleeping."

Shadow laughed. It changed her whole face in a way that delighted the young man. "Well, I'll let you get some rest. I'm over in the west wing if you need anything. Or even if you don't." He smiled at her warmly. "I'm glad you're back, Shadow."

Blake pressed the back of her hand to his lips and then finally let go, bidding her good-night. She watched him navigate through the darkness with ease. He was clearly familiar with these halls-halls that were once her private, lonely world.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. Shadow bit her lip, daunted by the task before her. She knew now without a doubt: she _must_ not fail. The stakes were too high.


	47. The Next Morning

Pale, early light floated in through Shadow's curtains. She sat on the edge of her bed, lacing up a boot as she beheld the mist that rose from the dewy grass. Night had passed without much sleep. Her guilt-ridden mind searched for a peace it could not find.

Bliss had washed over Wayne Manor in her absence; she could feel it now as one would feel for a pond's warmth with one foot on the shore. She did not wish to disturb it with ripples of her return.

Shadow set both boots on the floor, her mind made up. But the strengthening sun made something flicker in her memory. She could hear the splintering of wooden swords in a red desert. An enormous man drove his bokken against hers, his arms bulging with brute strength. She cried out at the effort of keeping him at bay. The sun beat down on her just as mercilessly. Every bone in her body ached. Every muscle screamed for relief.

When she did not yield, her opponent kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling onto the scorching ground. The bokken flew from her hands. "That was a cheap shot!" she shouted angrily, spitting blood from her mouth.

"Get back on your feet!" the man ordered. "Begin again!"

Shadow snarled in frustration. "We've been at this since before dawn," she protested. "If _you_ don't kill me, the sun will!"

"You would rather poison yourself with comfort?" He stormed at her furiously. Too late she tried to drag herself out of the way. He grabbed the front of her tunic and dangled her in the air, watching her struggle against his grip.

"You disappoint me, Talia," he rebuked. She glared at him indignantly. The jagged tubes of his breathing apparatus reminded her of the inside of a dragon's mouth. "When you came to me, I had hoped you would be strong like your father. How do you expect to finish his work if you cannot even finish my training?" He tossed her to the ground. "Now, begin again!"

A knock at the door chased her memories away. She turned around to see a kindly old butler standing in the threshold. "Alfred!" she exclaimed, running over to throw her arms about his neck. He returned the embrace gladly and kissed her on the cheek.

"Good morning, love," he said with a smile that warmed Shadow's troubled heart. "Did you sleep well?" She nodded, a white lie. "Alright then, come on down for breakfast. I've made your favorite."

Shadow hesitated. "I'll be right there. I need to finish washing up."

"Very well." Alfred conceded. He patted her on the cheek, just like he used to when she was a child. As he retreated back down the vast hallway, Shadow's brow furrowed. She thought she noticed something in the wake of his smile. But there was no time to wonder.

"Is she coming?" Bruce asked when the butler returned to the kitchen alone. Blake looked up as well, anxious to see her again.

"I don't believe so," Alfred said shrewdly. "You'd better catch her."


	48. Not So Fast

Birds flitted away at the sound of a strident engine tearing through the peaceful morning air. Shadow's motorcycle bore down on the narrow dirt lane that connected Wayne Manor to the rest of civilization. Tears blurred her vision to be fleeing her home for a second time. But she knew that Gotham could not afford for her to be selfish right now.

Suddenly the tumbler roared into view. It leapt onto the path in front of her, effectively blocking it. Shadow screeched to a halt. Her back tire slid sideways against her leg, kicking up a cloud of dust. She glanced around for a different route, revving the engine. But another motorcycle was closing in. Blake brought his bike to a stop behind them, completing her entrapment. Shadow slapped the handlebars in frustration.

The tumbler's door swung up. Bruce emerged through a haze of dirt that hung in the air. All was silent save for the crunch of footsteps as he approached the young woman.

"Get off the motorcycle, Shadow," he ordered.

"No." She remained where she was, defiant and determined. "Now get out of my way, please."

Bruce folded his arms across his chest, equally unflappable. Several tense moments passed. Blake swallowed nervously; he wanted to speak up, but knew better than to get between two wills like theirs.

A hint of a smile touched the corner of Bruce's lips. In his mind he saw a little girl sneaking into the prison hold, breaking her father's rules to do what she knew to be right.

He uncrossed his arms and strode to the front of her bike.

"You must not try to stop me," she warned. He rested his hands gently on the handlebars.

"Don't do this-"

"I know I have caused you enough pain," she interrupted. "If you wish, I will not return again. But there is something I have to do."

Blake's chest tightened. He looked from Shadow to Bruce apprehensively.

"Don't do this _alone_ ," Bruce finished.

Shadow's eyes darted up at him. Her mouth opened, but the words did not form.

"We're a team now, Shadow," Bruce avowed. He exchanged a brief glance with Blake. The young man's worries evanesced. "Whatever it is, whatever trouble you're in, you don't have to face it alone. Please, let us help you."

Against her will, a new hope beat in her chest. She had been running from the Bruce she knew, but this was not him. The ashes of an old, destructive fire blew away and within the wreckage, something sacred was restored. She looked to Blake, whose gaze pleaded with her to stay. Then she turned back to face Bruce.

"I don't need Batman," she said at long last.

He hung his head. "Shadow, please-"

"But I could use Bruce Wayne's help."

A smile slowly stretched across his face, a smile that she readily returned.

"Well, can we have some breakfast first?" Blake chimed in. "I'm afraid that if we don't, Alfred might kill us all. Lovingly, of course."


	49. Call and Answer

"The reactor? I don't understand. That's just Congressman Gilly's latest bid for cleaner energy," Bruce said over Alfred's sausage and havarti cakes back at the mansion. "In order to turn it into a weapon, you'd have to be a scientist-"

"Yes. Like Dr. Leonid Pavel." Shadow picked at her food, unable to inspire an appetite. "He is a Russian nuclear physicist. They kidnapped him six months ago and threw him into the prison where...where I was being held."

"Prison?" Blake's eyes softened as they drifted over the motley of bruises on her face. He recalled her skittishness at his touch the night before and scolded himself for not having seen it sooner.

Bruce clenched his jaw. "All this time…" A deep and solemn fury gripped him as he pictured her abuse. "I shouldn't have stopped looking."

"It was my own fault. I made sure that nobody would be able to find me after I left," she said bitterly. "That's why I kept trying to escape; I knew it was my only hope of seeing Gotham again."

"You had tried before?" Blake asked.

"Yes. Many times. Knowing of his plans for the city, yet being powerless to stop him...it was worse than anything he ever did to me."

"Who, Shadow?" Bruce demanded. His fists balled beside his plate. "Who dared to lay a hand on you?"

She wavered, not wanting to begin the war. "Bane," she finally answered. The single, harrowing syllable seemed to darken the very room. Shadow fidgeted in her chair, sensing the rage that bloomed in Bruce's chest. She felt burdened to say more, but for the first time, courage eluded her.

Blake sensed Shadow's discomfort. He reached for her hand under the table and grasped it tightly. She glanced at him, a grateful smile fighting for life on her lips.

Bruce had heard enough. He pushed away from his empty plate. "To the Bat Cave?" he entreated, a renewed determination in the lines of his face. Blake and Shadow nodded, rising to follow. It was time to answer the call of war.


	50. An Investment

Author's Note-In response to the latest comment, it has been duly noted! From now on, flashbacks will appear in italics to help the flow of continuity. Also, Ninjachick and my guest commenter-I seriously love you guys! I'm so happy you are enjoying the story! Thanks for all the love!

* * *

"Mr. Bruce Wayne himself," a well-groomed man with an ingratiating smile greeted the billionaire. "What a pleasure!" There was something condescending about his joviality. Then again, most politicians rubbed Bruce the wrong way. Congressman Gilly was no different.

"The pleasure is all mine," Bruce replied disingenuously. "May I introduce Lucius Fox, the CEO of Wayne Industries." He turned to an older gentleman who exuded sincere humility. Gilly was not perceptive enough to notice that there was also a spark of cleverness hidden in his eyes. After a round of handshakes, the congressman beckoned the two guests into his office.

Bruce took a seat opposite the self-important desk while Fox paced to the window, taking in the sweeping view of concrete and steel.

"So I understand you are interested in my green initiative?" Gilly said, rubbing his hands together with shark-like anticipation.

"Well, Fox here has been nagging me for months about this project of yours; he's a bit of an idealist, I'm afraid," Bruce replied. Gilly smiled sympathetically.

"Last I heard, sir, you were very close to reaching your goal for the fusion reactor," Fox chimed in, turning away from the window with his arms folded behind his back. "Wayne Enterprises has more than enough funds to help you get there. We would just need a few more details about the project, of course."

Gilly's face took on a newfound smugness. "Actually, gentlemen, you're a little late on the scene. I've found another donor. Thanks to John Daggett, the reactor is well on its way to becoming a reality. But if you'd still like to invest, we have other options-,"

"I'm sure Fox would love to go over them with you," Bruce interrupted, rising abruptly. "Isn't that right?"

The older gentleman shot him a look sharp as daggers. "Yes of course, sir. I know you have that tournament to be off to, anyways. Mister Wayne _does_ love his polo."

Alfred was waiting for Bruce outside. He nodded a greeting as his master climbed into the back of the vehicle. "Any luck sir?" he asked, pulling away from the curb. Bruce blew out a pensive sigh.

"In a way," he said cryptically. "Any word from the others?"

Alfred shook his head and handed him a communicator.

"Update, please," Bruce ordered, hoping he sounded more authoritative than worried. His stomach turned to knots in the unsettling silence that followed.

"Shadow?" Bruce tried again, his voice straining with concern. "Nightwing? What's going on?"

Finally, an answer-though it was not a comforting one. " _We're a little busy_ ," came Blake's ragged voice. And nothing more.


	51. News From Gotham

_All day long, Bane had trained Shadow until her bones cracked. She wanted to rest, but the kitchen fires were rising. She knew that if she did not fight for her share of supper, she would go to bed hungry._

 _Shadow pushed through the horde of men, receiving a portion of ambiguous looking stew and a busted lip for her effort. She retreated to the edge of a training arena where she could eat in lonely peace. The desert sky burned above her even at nighttime, tinted a radiant blue like the gem of a crown. Throngs of stars bowed before a fat and regal moon as it ascended the celestial throne._

 _Someone approached. She tensed, glancing up defensively. Shadow recognized the maroon tunic and mahogany-dark skin of Barsad, Bane's right hand man._

" _You would stoop so low as to dine with someone of my rank?" she scoffed._

" _I come bearing news," he confessed. "News from Gotham." He sat beside her, drawing up his legs in a meditative-like pose and gazing out over the moon-washed dunes._

 _The breath caught in her throat at the mention of her former home. She waited for him to continue, trying to quell her impatience._

" _Batman has taken a partner," he said finally. "He calls himself Nightwing. It would appear your master has found a new little songbird in your absence."_

 _She felt the flames of a fire in her chest, rising from a place of rage. Barsad could see its embers smoldering in her eyes. It pleased him._

" _This angers you, does it?"_

 _Shadow nodded, seething. She had indeed been nothing more than Bruce's songbird; she played her part when it was convenient for him. And when she recognized her cage for what it was, he tried to rid himself of her. She was not worthy to be more; but this stranger was?_

" _We will be ready for Gotham by the end of the year," Barsad continued. "Bane has promised to leave Nightwing for your disposal. Then you can prove yourself a member of the League of Shadows. If you have the courage, of course, to do what is necessary."_

 _She hesitated. "And Batman?"_

" _Bane will take care of Batman." he vowed. "And your father will be avenged. His war will soon be over. Take heart, child, for you have a chance to be a part of that glory."_

" _I am not a child," she snapped._

" _No, I suppose you are not," he agreed. His eyes wandered over her lustfully. "Why not persuade_ them _of that?" He indicated the raucous fellowship of men gathered around the kitchen fires._

 _She scowled as he then placed a hand on her cheek and brushed his thumb over her bloody lip. "There are easier ways for a woman to be welcomed into our ranks, you know. Sharing a tent with someone of my authority, for example."_

 _She pulled away from him with a snarl. "I would rather die," she swore._

 _Barsad raised an offended eyebrow. "What happened to him? To the one who makes you shirk the touch of another man?"_

 _Memories wounded Shadow in the wake of his astuteness. "He is dead. Because of Batman," she answered wretchedly. The conflagration of her burning scorn all but consumed her heart. In the rubble of a deep and buried place, a small voice called out to be heard; it alone battled her descent into darkness. But it was not strong enough, not loud enough. Not yet._

" _You can tell Bane I will accompany him to Gotham, to take my rightful place in the League of Shadows. Batman will be finished. And Nightwing will be mine."_


	52. A Wrench in the Plan

On the outskirts of Gotham, a determined river carved its path through a densely brushed plain. It was a rare patch of wilderness on the edge of civilization, where a person could almost forget the feats of man if it weren't for one small reminder-a nondescript hatch scarring the overgrown field.

The Bat Pod growled as it ambled over the rugged terrain. Shadow held fast to Blake, who negotiated the drive suited up as Nightwing. She pressed her face into his shoulder, grateful for his company. Just a day ago, she believed him still dead. Just a day ago, she carried the burden of her mission alone. But here she was, part of a team with Batman and Nightwing. Never before had she felt such a sense of belonging.

They rolled to a stop near the edge of the river and concealed the Bat Pod within a dense cluster of bushes. As they began their trek on foot, Shadow glanced at her companion nervously. "May I ask you something?"

Blake's curiosity flared. It was unusual for her to betray such timidity. "Anything," he assured.

"How did you convince him?" She straightened the hem of her jacket as if it were the source of her discomfort.

"What do you mean?"

"He was like a father to me," she elucidated. "For years it was only us and dear old Alfred. But Bruce-he never really trusted me, I think." A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. "He seems to trust you, though."

The young man balked. "Are you kidding me? That guys is like a steel door. I don't think he trusts _anyone_."

Shadow's laugh was a commiserating one. "Well, you've changed him," she admitted softly. "Thank-you."

Blake's heart welled with gratitude at her sincere recognition. "He didn't want anything to do with me at first, you know. But I reminded him that we had something in common." He let his unabashed gaze linger. "You."

She turned away, cursing how Blake always made her cheeks burn. No other man had the power to make her so happily uneasy.

"Come on," Blake urged, his spirits renewed. "It's right over here. Let's throw a wrench into Bane's plans. Or rather, a river."

Shadow grinned at him, allowing herself to feel a mote of relief. Blake placed several small explosives around the hatch.

"What if flooding the reactor doesn't disarm it?" he asked.

"It may not," Shadow answered, prompting Blake to pause. "But it will at least draw the attention of Gilly's critics. Bane will have difficulty getting his hands on the reactor with it under the city's scrutiny. It will either buy us victory or time."

They withdrew a safe distance while the explosives tore the hatch apart, leaving a scorched and jagged hole in the earth. Cautiously, they approached. Blake crouched above the opening. The air below was dark and still; it crept towards them like the breath of a sleeping giant. "Ready?" he asked.

Shadow nodded solemnly, taking hold of the ladder first. Their presence activated a series of fluorescent bulbs that came to life in a rolling sequence along the ceiling.

"No…" Shadow despaired when she reached the bottom. Blake leapt to his feet beside her and followed her eyes. There was nothing-nothing at all within the vast chamber.

"Where is the reactor?" he asked, similarly distressed. They hurried to the platform where it should have been.

"I don't understand. All of the systems are still intact. Someone with proper authority had to have taken it out. Nightwing-!" Shadow looked up in horror.

The chamber had continued to fill with harsh, cold light. As it did, figures appeared out of the darkness, prowling like predators before the kill. " _Go_!" she shouted, pushing Blake towards the ladder. But as they fled, they discovered the ladder occupied. More and more enemies were making their way down the rungs.

A grim realization washed over Shadow. "It's a trap," she said bitterly. "I should've known." She moved closer to Blake. They stood back to back, poised for the inevitable battle.

"I'll take half, you take half?" Blake offered, smiling darkly.

"These are Bane's men," Shadow warned. "They are trained assassins."

"..five..six..seven. Darn, an odd number. Trained assassins? Fine, you take three and I'll take four."

She shook her head at his audacity. But even in the direness of their moment, Shadow could not hold back a smirk. The circle of men closed in.

* * *

" _We're a little busy right now,_ " Blake answered Bruce before smashing a mercenary's face into the ground. He glanced over at Shadow with concern, but she was holding up surprisingly well. Her time as a prisoner had dulled her stamina, but not her superlative abilities. She was familiar with these men-and therefore with their weaknesses. They had trained together for dozens of hours beneath the blazing sun. It was Shadow's fury that blazed upon them now.

Immediately another one of Bane's men crashed into Blake. He fell to the floor under the punishing weight. But he managed to hook one of his adversary's legs as well as one of his arms and throw him off balance. The second he hit the ground, Blake's fist hit his jaw. The man leapt to his feet with a roar, offended instead of beaten. Angrily, he pulled a bo staff from over his back.

Blake grimaced. These men were certainly not the street thugs he had grown accustomed to fighting. He stood, drawing his escrima sticks in return. For a tense moment, they stared each other down. Then the mercenary moved first. A murderous dance followed, accompanied by the drumming of sticks and staff. Blake's gracefulness began to wane under the pressure of his enemy's skill. He soon found himself backed against the wall with the bo staff wedged under his chin.

Blake pushed back, struggling against defeat with all his might. His opponent snarled, gnashing his teeth with the effort of keeping his deadly advantage. Blake's ears rang. His vision darkened. Suddenly, the assassin relented. Blake watched, momentarily puzzled, as he fell to his knees. Shadow stood behind him, her arm still recoiling from a vengeful blow.

"That was the last one," she said, leaning onto her knees to catch her breath. Blood dripped down the side of her face. Blake's own wounds began to sting as he sank against the wall in relief. They exchanged weary smiles.

But they did not have time to cherish their victory. Around them, the mercenaries were stirring back to consciousness. " _We'll meet you at the Bat Cave_ ," Blake panted into his communicator. He took Shadow's hand and together they made their escape. It was time for a new plan.


	53. Hope and Despair

Back at the Bat Cave, they washed their wounds in disappointed silence. Shadow sighed plaintively, wringing out a bloody towel. She felt despair creeping in and taking hold.

"Hey, don't worry," Blake coaxed, coming alongside her. "We'll think of something. We always do." He placed an encouraging hand on her back. Still, she remained sullen.

"You know," he said, his eyes suddenly alight with a mischievous glint. "I took down at least five back there. What happened to your end of the bargain?"

Her head whipped up indignantly. "I seem to remember _you_ were the one slacking," she countered.

Blake clicked his tongue. "You must still have water in your head from that swim in the river."

She leapt onto his back and put him in a headlock.

"Shadow!" he scolded playfully.

"Admit it! You only got three!" she ordered, tightening her grip. Blake went to his knees and threw her over his shoulder. She retaliated by spinning around and sweeping him flat. They tussled for control, laughing between breaths. Finally Shadow gained the upper hand and wrenched him into a painful ankle lock.

"Okay, okay!" Blake shouted. " _Maybe_ I only got three!"

She leaned in deeper, biding her time. "I didn't hear you," she taunted. "Must be the water in my head…"

Blake gritted his teeth in defeat. "Three! I only got three!"

Victorious, she relented. Blake leaned back onto his palms. A grin spread across his face as he panted for breath.

"Come here," he beckoned with a wink. Shadow's heart skipped a beat. She crawled towards him, her pulse racing in anticipation.

"Blake?"

He reached out and stroked her cheek as she drew nearer. "Yes?"

She closed her eyes and sighed softly, cherishing the tenderness of his touch. Then she leaned forward and kissed him. "I want you," she whispered, letting her mouth linger next to his. "And only you."

She kissed him again. And again. He fell back to the floor beneath her fervent lips. Somewhere in Shadow's soul, something ignited. A fire burned brightly between them, consuming the darkest corners of her despair. She could feel its flames along her skin everywhere his hands strayed. Blake's brilliant hope overwhelmed her, but still she craved for more.

At long last, a future she once thought lost was now within her reach. For Shadow, and for Gotham City.


	54. A Piece of the Puzzle

The front doors of the mansion burst open. "Shadow! Blake?" Bruce called anxiously. His two wards emerged from a nearby hall. The young woman rushed forward to greet him first. He embraced her, relieved.

"What happened?"

"We were too late," Blake answered. "The reactor was gone."

Shadow looked away. "We failed," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "I am sorry."

She stepped back, awaiting Bruce's disappointment. But instead, pride crept into his eyes.

"Bane did not underestimate you. He must be acquainted with your determination." He took her shoulders gently. "Don't consider this failure. Consider it a compliment. Your enemy respects you."

Blake grinned, feeling suddenly as though he had intruded on a moment meant for them. But Shadow's guilty conscience would not let her enjoy Bruce's praise.

"So what do we do now?"

Bruce's brow furrowed in thought. "I may have a new lead. Gilly said a name today-John Daggett."

"Daggett?" Shadow echoed.

"You know of him?" Blake asked, noting the recognition in her eyes.

"I have heard stories of a coup in West Africa," she said. "Carried out by Bane and his men."

Bruce's confusion only deepened. "A coup?"

"To secure local diamond mining operations. But not for Bane-for the man who hired him. A man named John Daggett."

A piece of the puzzle fell into place. "Shadow," Bruce said gravely. "John Daggett is the one who funded the fusion reactor."

Her face darkened. "Then he is working with Bane again."

"Good," Blake piped up. "Maybe he can give us some answers."

A contemplative silence enshrouded the three. The same unspoken plan took shape in their minds. But they were interrupted by Alfred walking purposefully into their midst. "Fox mentioned you forgot something this afternoon-after you deserted him with that infernal politician," he informed his master.

Bruce's eyes flickered with remembrance. "Ah yes," he said. A secret hid behind his smile. "Now, I have some work to do. You two, go get some rest. You're going to need it."


	55. Alone

Shadow returned to her room in search of rest. Despite their setback, she found herself revelling in the day's events, inspired by Bruce's resolve and Blake's ardent optimism. They had become a makeshift family, three orphans forged by tragedy and the choices they made thereafter. But the truth of Shadow's choices weighed heavily on her. They deserved to know what she did in Bane's camp before she was his prisoner. And the longer she went without telling them, the more tormented her hours alone became. Memories that she wanted to forget now paraded through her mind as she lay captive in the grip of a fitful sleep.

 _Shadow sat near the humble fire she had built on the edge of camp. Skillfully, she whittled down a piece of wood into a training sword. Training against Bane usually cost her several bokken a day. Replacing them kept the young woman mercifully busy in her alone time. Still, Nightwing's name kept bounding through her mind._

 _Another shaving furled beneath Shadow's blade. She imagined the sharp edge sliding across Nightwing's throat instead. A cold smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she pictured Bruce's despair._ "I took your advice, Bruce," _she would say._ "I found my own aspirations. Are you proud of me now?"

 _Footsteps alerted her to someone else's presence. They were light and quick, as if trying to sneak up on her. She spun around with a snarl, wielding the knife aloft. But the hilt slipped from her hands in bewilderment._

 _A little boy cowered before her, frozen with fear. He couldn't be older than five, with sun-darkened skin and terrified brown eyes. He trembled violently as a whimper rose in his throat._

" _It's...it's okay…" she reached out to reassure him, but he threw up his arms and shielded his face. Shadow felt a stab of pity to see him flinch beneath her hand. There was something of herself in him-a child who had learned to expect only cruelty from the world._

" _What's your name?" she asked. But he turned and fled, kicking up flurries of sand into the deep blue night. She watched as his furtive little form disappeared beneath the flap of a tent. Omar's tent._

 _Her heart sank. Omar was their newest recruit, and thus far had not fared well. The other men gave him frequent beatings to remind him of his ineptitude. Did they know he had a son? Would they treat him with the same brutality? She knew well how the League turned a blind eye toward the plight of children._

 _Shadow resumed her work, leaving thoughts of Nightwing by the wayside. A protectiveness for the defenseless child burned in her chest instead. He was in need of a friend as much as she was._

* * *

 _A few nights later, the little boy returned. He kept his distance this time, watching her with childish curiosity. Shadow knew he would be back. She pulled a small, wooden elephant from her pocket. Once she was sure he had noticed, she tossed it wordlessly behind her._

 _Shadow pretended to be busy once more, but listened intently as he crept forward and snatched up the toy. His little footsteps receded away with the prize. Shadow smiled to herself and started carving another one._

* * *

 _Night after night, the little boy would visit her while she labored alone in the weary hours after supper. Every time, she had another figurine for him. And every time, she would leave it closer and closer._

 _One night, she sat patching up some tunics when she heard his familiar shuffle behind her. She reached in her pocket for the horse she had carved earlier that day. But instead of tossing it, she set it down beside her and casually resumed her sewing. Several minutes passed. Shadow held her breath, waiting to see if her ploy would work. It did._

 _Out of the corner of her eye she could see his little hand clutch the figurine. This time, though, he did not flee. He sat on the ground cross-legged, watching her every move warily. "My name is Rami," he mustered._

 _She turned her head to look at him. "You can call me Shadow," she said, unsure of why she gave him Bruce's name for her. No one here called her that. But for some reason, she wanted the boy to._

 _They didn't speak again; they didn't need to. From then on, their company was silent and comfortable. Occasionally, he would even help out with her chores. She thought no one knew about their unique friendship, but she was wrong. For hidden in the darkness, someone was watching-always watching._

* * *

 _A fist landed squarely on Shadow's cheek. She went down hard. The throng of men whooped around her, lusting for violence. "I am getting weary of this!" she growled, springing to her feet. The man threw his fist again. This time she caught it, kicking his knee at the same time. There was a sickening crack of bones as he fell to the ground with a cry of anguish. Three more men rushed forward, eager for their turn. Shadow grabbed the nearest one by his collar and threw him into another. Then she tackled the third with a torrent of punches and uppercuts. As he fell, the crowd took a step back. She glanced about angrily. "Anyone else want to keep me from my dinner?"_

 _There were no more challengers. Shadow picked up her bowl and stepped forward to receive her portion. It was barely worth fighting for, just a few scrapes from the bottom of the cauldron. She accepted it nonetheless, trying to blot out memories of Alfred's glorious pot roasts._

 _Just as Shadow settled down at her wonted post, she noticed a forlorn figure retreating from the crowd. Omar trudged back to his tent, empty bowl in hand. Rami raced forward, eyes shining with excitement for their dinner. Omar's shoulders sank. "Nothing tonight, I'm afraid," he said, patting the boy's head._

 _But when they turned to their tent, someone stood in the way. Shadow stared at Omar silently._

" _Rami, no!" he rebuked as the little boy broke from his side. The child trotted over to the woman and wrapped his arms around her knees._

 _She looked down with a sheepish smile. "Here," she said, handing him her bowl of food. Omar's eyes widened. He began to protest, but could not form the words. She nodded, understanding him anyways. Then she left without saying anything else._

* * *

 _The next morning, Shadow awoke early. A morning hush draped over the camp with a pretense of peace. Her empty stomach ached, so she decided to distract herself by carving another figurine for the boy. A lingering chill brushed against her bare skin. She shivered but carried on, for she knew that the sun would gain its cruel strength soon enough._

 _A beam of light fell across her tent floor as someone opened the flap. She sprang to her feet hastily, gripping the knife in her hand. Barsad glared at the half-formed toy in her other palm. "You are to stop this nonsense," he growled, striking it away with disdain. Shadow grimaced. Her demeanor shifted from defensive to guilty._

" _Your compassion is a weakness your enemies will not share, Talia," he lectured._

" _Yes, I have heard that before," she said, picturing her father's face._

" _And you would defy Bane?"_

 _She looked up with a hint of defiance. "I would befriend the defenseless, yes. I was once so."_

" _It will only make it more difficult." The corner of Barsad's lip twitched as if he were trying to hide something._

 _She narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean? Make what more difficult?"_

 _Barsad sighed. Then he turned and pulled the flap of her tent closed. "You must kill Omar," he said with his back still to her._

 _Shadow's jaw dropped. "What? Why?" she cried._

 _"Keep your voice down!" Barsad ordered, whipping around. "I am not supposed to be here."_

 _She studied his face intently as he continued. "Tomorrow, Bane will ask you to kill him. Omar is weak. He will never be one of us. But there is hope yet for the boy."_

" _He would become an orphan…"_

" _Many of us are," he shrugged._

 _Her mind spun. The floor seemed to be spinning, too. "I can't," she whispered._

 _Barsad stepped forward and grabbed hold of her arms. "You must! Just picture Nightwing. You had no problem agreeing to his murder."_

 _Shadow swallowed. "That...that's different…"_

" _No," he insisted. "It is not different at all."_

 _Her eyes flooded with a new realization. "You are right…" she murmured, a note of resignation in her voice. "It isn't different."_

" _Talia," Barsad warned. "If you will not do it, then I will."_

" _But Bane-"_

" _Bane does not have to know."_

 _She regarded him anew. "You would defy Bane?"_

 _"I would secure your place in the League, yes." He slid his hands down her arms until they were over her hips and pulled her closer._

 _"Why?" she demanded, shoving away from him._

 _Barsad drew in a breath and walked towards her once more. Something in his eyes made Shadow feel suddenly vulnerable, especially when she realized she was still in her night clothes._

 _"I have seen your fire. You could be unstoppable," he said, continuing his encroach. "I want to touch that heat, feel those flames for myself." He grabbed hold of her face and shoved his lips against hers. She recoiled, hissing in disgust._

 _"The answer is no, Barsad! It will always be no. I told you-he is gone. He took that part of me with him."_

 _Barsad snarled in frustration. "Do not think of him! Think of yourself. Think of the advantages. You could lead these men at my side. No more fighting for food, for respect."_

 _"I have never been afraid of a fight." Her statement seemed almost like an invitation. Muscles tensed all across her sinewy body. "Besides," she added, clenching her fists. "I prefer to do things alone. I can take care of myself."_

 _Barsad mulled over the rejection in bitter silence. He was a man used to taking things by force. But he knew better than to trifle with the daughter of Ra's al Ghul. After a time, he finally spoke again. "Then you must take care of Omar, too. If you want the boy to succeed, you will cut him free. His father is only holding him back. The way Batman held you back."_

 _He stormed out of the tent. Once his angry footsteps had faded across the sand, Shadow bent down to pick up the figurine. She turned it over and over in her hands, musing on Barsad's words. Suddenly she hurled it against the side of her tent. Anguished tears spilled from her eyes. She knew what had to be done. And there would be no turning back._


	56. Shadow's Guilt

Shadow awoke from her unpleasant dreams. Guilt gnawed at her heart. Evening stirred outside the window, with breaths of wind rousing the birch and dogwood leaves of the estate. She hurried from her room and down the corridor in search of Bruce, knowing she had to tell him the truth.

Shadow found him in the library, sitting behind his desk with a familiar, studious look wrinkling his brow. She paused in the doorway, overwhelmed by nostalgia. She could see herself slinking into the room as a little girl. Bruce would pretend not to notice, though he always did. He was not as stringent as Alfred about bedtime. And besides, her company had a way of comforting him before long, lonesome patrols on Gotham's streets. She'd climb up into the armchair by the fireplace and find herself lulled to sleep by its deep cushions and the sound of rustling pages.

"Hey," Bruce's greeting pulled her back to the present. "I've got something for you." His voice brimmed with excited anticipation. He bent down and pulled something out of a box from Wayne Enterprises.

Her eyes widened. "What-what-"

"Here," he held out a sleek, bat-like cowl. It looked like his, but smaller and more feminine. "It's yours, if you wish. Fox helped me design it."

Shadow took it gingerly. "I do not deserve to wear this," she said, biting her lip.

"Shadow," he sighed. "I know there was a time I discouraged you. I thought I was doing the right thing, putting you on the path of an ordinary child. But you were never an ordinary child." He grasped her shoulders earnestly. "My mask...it represents suffering and sacrifice. I wanted better for you."

She looked at him with a melancholy smile. "I...I wanted better for you, too."

His face softened with the sympathy of a new understanding. "Well then," he said. "Shall we suffer together?"

She glanced back down at the mask, wavering. Shadow yearned to be a part of the team more than anything. But would Bruce still trust her if he knew she had fallen prey to the darkness? What would Blake think, if he heard of the promises she once made?

He studied Shadow's silence, misreading her apprehension. "Listen," Bruce said. He turned her face towards his. "I promise to never hold you back again. You are free to choose your own fate, as I have been free to choose mine."

He pulled her close, kissing the top of her head. A confession beat against her chest, pleading for freedom. But she could not bear the thought of losing her newfound hope and favor. So she clasped the cowl tightly and nuzzled into Bruce's embrace. The truth would have to wait.


	57. A Narrow Escape

Rain pounded on the windows of Daggett's suite like the beating of war drums. An army of clouds gathered above Gotham, laying stormy siege to the city. The silver-haired businessman turned away from the gloom, seeking instead the luxury of his penthouse.

Tonight, he felt like celebrating. He had delivered the reactor as promised. In return, Bane had assured him that his wealth would increase tenfold. That was a lot of zeroes for a man of his stature. Daggett loosened his tie, turning his undivided attention to the champagne bottle awaiting him on the counter of the wet bar.

"I wouldn't open that just yet," a voice rasped through the air. He turned, surprised, and was met with a cuff to the chin.

A caped and frightful silhouette basked in the shadows. Sable hair flowed from beneath a batlike cowl in dark, unruly waves.

"You hit like a girl," he spat. He reached for a nearby drawer. But before he could get his gun, someone grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed his head into the wall.

"With a little practice, you could too," Nightwing replied. Daggett groaned and sank to the floor.

"What the hell do you guys want?" he griped, dragging himself away from the two figures that were closing in on him.

"Where is it, Daggett? What have you done with the reactor?" the female asked.

"Look, I was just the delivery boy," he deflected. "I don't even know what he wants with the damn thing." But she didn't like that answer. She leapt onto him, squeezing the air from his chest with her knee and pulling his collar taut across his windpipe.

"Where is it?!" She waited until his breath turned to desperate gargling. Suddenly, the door behind them burst open. His two aggressors whirled in surprise.

Batman hurtled through the doorway, battling back a host of mercenaries that had attempted to ambush the suite. Nightwing flew to Batman's aid without hesitation.

A smug smile spread across Daggett's face. "Didn't you know I was expecting company tonight?" he said. The woman smiled back, equally smug. It froze the blood in his veins. Without another word, she yanked him to his feet and launched him through the window. Glass shattered around Daggett, mingling with the rain that drove him downwards from the dizzying height of his penthouse. But his fall was cut mercifully short by a window washing platform. After several stunned moments he crawled to his knees, uttering a mixture of curses and praises.

Then he realized he was not alone. Shadow crouched on the other end of the platform, waiting for him to notice. She lashed out with the speed of a snake, pushing his head and shoulders over the edge.

"WHERE IS IT DAGGETT?" she bellowed. Her fierce, dark eyes bore into his.

"It's...it's…" he stammered. She clenched her jaw impatiently. Just then, the cable groaned. Before they could register the warning, it snapped and the platform went careening towards the earth.

Daggett screamed out in terror, clinging to one of the railings. "Let go!" Shadow shouted.

"Are you crazy?!"

" _Let go if you want to live_!"

Out of options, he acquiesced. Shadow wrapped her arms around his torso and lifted them both into the air. Daggett immediately regretted his decision. He braced, waiting for the awful sensation of plummeting through vast nothingness.

But instead of falling, they were gliding. A sea of city lights glimmered below. It wasn't long before a rooftop loomed into view, filling Daggett with sweet relief. She deposited him none-too-gently on its concrete surface, landing beside him with a swish of her cape.

He rolled to his back, gulping for breath. "You-you saved my life," he gasped. She stared back at him silently as rain dripped from her mask.

"Alright look," he conceded, collecting himself. "Bane had me bring it to one of the cement plants I own. He's been running my construction crews around the clock."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I swear. I was just in it for the money. I think Bane-," A gunshot cracked through the air.

Shadow stumbled backwards from the surprise. "Daggett!" she shouted. But his eyes glossed over. Blood dripped from a small hole in the side of his skull.

She looked up, searching for his murderer. A man with mahogany dark skin marched towards her, revolver in hand. "Barsad…" she muttered.

Barsad grinned with cold and calculated pleasure. "So we meet again, Talia."

"It's Batgirl now," she growled.

"And I thought you were tired of being his shadow." He backed her against the wall of a nearby stairwell with his gun. "You've given me no choice, unfortunately. No choice but to kill you."

She stepped brazenly against the barrel of his gun. _"You're welcome to try."_

Out of nowhere, Nightwing propelled himself into the assassin. They fell to the ground together as the revolver went skittering over the pavement.

At the same time, a swarm of men emerged from the stairwell. Shadow found herself caught up in their midst before she could reach Nightwing and Barsad. Though surrounded, she drove them back ruthlessly. She fought with the savageness of a beast but the gracefulness of a dancer. One by one they piled around her in unconscious heaps.

Just as she finished off the last mercenary, she looked around wildly for her teammate.

Barsad was brandishing a large, scalloped dagger in the young man's direction. Nightwing caught it in the spikes of his gauntlets, trembling under his opponent's strength. With a cry of exertion, he pushed his arms down and outward, trapping the blade and casting it aside.

Barsad continued his charge with a flurry of fists, undeterred by each of the hero's timely blocks. Finally, one of his blows landed. Nightwing flew to the ground and did not rise again.

"NOOO!" Shadow yelled.

Barsad stalked towards his prey, murder gleaming in his eyes. But Shadow landed in front of the prone Nightwing protectively, glowering with vengeful rage.

"So you found Nightwing after all," Barsad taunted. "Changed your mind, has he?"

"Leave him alone," she warned, bristling.

"About more things than one, judging by your zeal." Barsad's lips curled into a jilted sneer. "Tell me, is this one worth it?"

"He is worth everything to me."

A groan drifted up from behind Shadow. Nightwing tried to lift himself onto his elbows, but fell again as he succumbed to the pain. Rain hammered against his suit, running down his back in small rivers.

"Stay there," she said softly. "It's going to be alright."

"You should not lie to the boy," Barsad reprimanded. "A storm is coming, Talia. It was not wise of you to jump ship. It should've been you standing with us to reclaim your father's glory."

"I am standing right where I belong," she vowed. "And I will not be moved."

"Then you will die with the rest!" Barsad roared. He charged at her like a freight train. She met him halfway, a battle cry ripping from her lungs. Just before they clashed, she stepped deftly to the side, swinging herself onto his back. Her arms wove around his throat while her legs hooked into his. He threw himself to the ground, crushing her below his massive weight. She held on with all her strength, even as her muscles burned for relief. But his endurance outlasted hers. She was forced to let go, sliding out of reach before he could retaliate.

His eyes flicked to the dagger lying nearby. With a single bound, he covered the distance and swooped it up. Shadow tried to roll to her feet but was not quick enough. Barsad's dagger slashed lengthwise across her ribs. A line of blood spilled forth.

As she doubled over in pain, he drove an elbow into her back. Shadow sprawled onto the pavement at his feet. Barsad grunted with satisfaction. He lifted the blade into the air.

Shadow could feel the wings of death beating down upon her. Just before she closed her eyes, she glimpsed the motionless Nightwing. At least he was not conscious to witness her bloody finish.

But Barsad's blade never came. Batman barrelled into him with a roar, sending Shadow's would-be killer flying. Though Barsad fought back, he was no match for Batman's fury. His wrath rained down upon his enemy as he beat him into submission with frightening brutality.

Meanwhile, Shadow dragged herself over to Nightwing's side. "Stay awake," she pleaded, rousing him into consciousness. She threw one of his arms over her shoulder and pulled him towards the edge of the rooftop, where she could hear the Bat hovering below.

But before they could make it very far, gunshots exploded into the concrete around them. She dove behind the stairwell, shielding Nightwing with her body.

Batman's attention whipped to the line of gunmen on the neighboring rooftop. "You should save them while you still can," Barsad taunted. A grin crossed his pulverized face. "Bane has marked you all for death."

"Tell Bane I am coming for him," Batman rasped menacingly. He slammed Barsad's head into the pavement, breaking his nose and knocking him out. Several small objects clattered to the ground from his utility belt. They began to hiss and spit, creating a smoke screen that obscured the rooftop from view. Under its cover, he scooped up the wounded Shadow and Blake and leapt over the edge to the safety of the Bat.

The gunmen watched, transfixed, as a harrowing black vessel tore through the smoke. It rumbled over their heads like thunder and disappeared into the storm clouds, making for the bleak horizon.


	58. Vulnerable

Gordon stirred awake to the murmur of hospital staff bustling through the hallways. Beside him, a monitor steadily beeped. It seemed darker than he remembered; someone had drawn the curtains and shut the door. Bleary eyed, he searched the room. Gordon was not alone.

"No cape today, huh?" he smiled at the dark outline of a man hunched beside his bed.

Beneath the ski mask that covered his face, the man smiled as well. "Hello, old friend," he mumbled, placing a hand on top of Gordon's.

"Come on now, you weren't worried about me," Gordon quipped.

"I knew you'd pull through. Still, I had to be sure."

The commissioner grunted his appreciation and tried to sit up. "Nah, I'm just fine. Thanks to her."

His visitor's eyes shone warmly. He waited for Gordon to take a sip from a nearby cup of water and settle back into the pillows.

"When you were down there," he began, shifting to more unpleasant business. "Did you see a man called Bane?"

Fear flitted across Gordon's face at the memory. "That was no man," he said solemnly. "He killed one of my captors like it was nothing. Broke his neck before he could even finish his sentence."

Bruce grimaced. "Gordon," he said, his voice bitter with disappointment. "We tried to stop him, but...he has procured a terrible weapon, a weapon capable of unimaginable destruction."

Dread overwhelmed Gordon's senses. Still, his honor reigned. "What can I do?"

"Do you know the name Daggett? He was working for Bane."

" _Was_?" the commissioner asked pointedly.

"He went in the way of your captor, I'm afraid. But before he died, he said Bane was using one of his cement plants and a host of construction crews."

Gordon's mind flashed to the tunnels. "What could he possibly be building?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure. Nightwing and Batgirl are still recovering from our last run-in. But I'm afraid…" he paused, struggling in a rare moment of vulnerability. "I'm afraid this may be beyond our scope. We need an army. Bane _must_ be stopped."


	59. Sanctuary

_Night spread over the desert. Stars burned white-hot above Bane's camp. Omar pulled his tent closed and smiled wearily at the little figure sprawled atop a pile of furs. Rami's slow, steady breathing assured him that his son was asleep. He laid down to join the peaceful scene of respite._

 _But rest was not as peaceful as Omar had hoped. He woke up to a hand clamping over his mouth. A cold blade touched his throat._

" _Do not fight me, for your own sake," a voice hissed. He struggled to get up, but found himself pinned beneath a shadow. "And for your son's sake," they added. At this, he acquiesced._

" _What do you want?" he demanded as soon as the hand was removed. His chest rose and fell sharply._

" _I want you to come with me." He realized then that the shadow was a woman. "We need to leave this place immediately."_

" _Why?"_

" _There is only death for you here." She moved to the side and let him climb to his feet._

" _And you? I think Bane sees something, despite what he lets them do to you. Why risk his favor?"_

" _Maybe Bane was wrong about me. He wouldn't be the first." Through the darkness, Omar saw something akin to shame on her face._

" _You will be hunted down and slaughtered. As will I." He began stuffing clothes into a bag._

" _Perhaps. But death does not scare me so much as failure does."_

" _Failure? Of what?"_

 _She lowered her voice. "Bane has plans to destroy the place I once called home."_

 _Omar paused, feeling a pang of sympathy. He had seen Bane burn many a village to the ground. "And you are going to stop him?"_

" _Yes."_

" _Alone?"_

" _What does it matter to you? Hurry, before we are caught."_

 _He gathered his sleeping son in his arms and together, they fled under the cover of darkness._

* * *

" _A few more miles and then we will reach the city. You will be safer there." Daylight was beginning to break, etching the sky with strokes of fiery red and passionate pink._

 _Omar made no acknowledgment. He seemed deep in thought. "Do you have a family of your own?" he asked finally._

" _No. I have nobody," Shadow answered, trying to appear cold and detached._

" _Nobody?" he scoffed._

 _She glanced at him sideways. "Not anymore. They gave up on me long ago."_

" _Do you ever think maybe you are the one who is wrong? About you?"_

 _Her glance turned into a glare. "You talk too much," she mumbled, adjusting the weight of her bag and pulling a few steps ahead._

* * *

 _Once they reached the city, Omar seemed to know where to go. Shadow followed him to the gates of an ancient monastery. Rami ran forth immediately, enchanted by a fountain in the courtyard._

" _The monks here are kind," Omar said. His eyes faded with nostalgia. "They took me in after my mother's death. And they will give Rami sanctuary, too."_

 _Shadow looked at him quizzically. "What about you?"_

" _I cannot stay. Bane will be searching for me. Rami is not safe at my side."_

" _You can't just leave him!" she protested. "He will grow up thinking you have abandoned him!"_

" _But he_ will _grow up." Omar turned to her with a sad smile. "One day, if you ever get to be a parent, you will understand. It is my duty to give him the best chance at life. No matter what kind of a life that means for me."_

 _Something pricked at her heart. Shadow pushed it away, for it threatened her resolve. "I must be leaving," she lied. "Good-bye, Omar. Tell Rami I will miss him."_

" _Wait," he said gently. "Please." She paused and looked over her shoulder, but not at him. He took a deep breath. "Don't start this war alone, Talia."_

" _I told you," she said. "I have nobody."_

" _That isn't true though, is it?"_

 _Shadow cringed. She turned to face him. "He has already forgotten me. It's best I leave it that way."_

 _He shook his head, refusing to accept her resignation. "No, Talia. A true father never forgets."_

 _Her mouth fell open. "How-how did you-"_

" _You must be leaving, remember? Now go! Go and win! So that I might be with my son again someday. You will be in my prayers-you and your village."_

 _Shadow felt her heart being forged anew as she walked away. Bruce's voice echoed through her mind from a conversation long ago._

"It's time for you to follow your own aspirations. There's a whole world out there beyond Gotham. You deserve to experience that."

 _She could hear Omar in his words now. Bruce had been trying to send her to a sanctuary all along. He had been trying to save her life, not suppress it. She realized suddenly just how much strength it must have taken to ask her to pursue an ordinary life, knowing it would have to be a life without him. All just to give her the best chance._

 _Shadow couldn't help but feel that she had squandered her best chance. Still, she had to make her time count. She had to make things right. And she decided to start by finding Dr. Pavel before Bane could._


	60. Out of Commmission

Shadow and Blake enjoyed a forced reprieve in the week following their encounter with Barsad. Despite the direness of what lay ahead, the two found themselves blithely content to be out of commission. They revelled in the serenity of the mansion-and in each other's company. Sleep was no longer a difficult thing to come by.

Morning broke over Wayne Manor. Flaxen light bathed the floor of Shadow's room. Its pale tide ebbed just before it reached her feet. She winced as she cleaned out the stitches along her abdomen, a painful reminder of her brush with the mercenary's knife. From the bed, someone stirred.

"Need any help with that?" Blake offered.

She declined, mustering a smile.

"You know, when this is over," he said, propping himself up on an elbow. "I wonder what we'll do with all the time saved from not having to stitch ourselves up."

"You mean a hobby that doesn't involve dark alleyways and getting into fistfights? Where's the fun in that?" Shadow teased.

Blake grinned wryly. "Something like ballroom dancing, perhaps," he mused. "But stay away from the windows this time, yeah?" She threw a pillow at his face. He fell back onto the mattress, laughing.

Stifling a laugh of her own, the young woman set about tidying up. Once the medical supplies had all been stowed away, she began to retrieve pieces of clothing that had been scattered across the floor in passionate haste.

Blake sat up and stretched luxuriously. The sheets fell away, inspiring Shadow to look over with an appreciative smile. "Well, whatever we do after this," he said, swinging his feet to the floor and inviting her into his open arms. "I'm just glad that it'll be together."

Shadow dropped the clothes she had gathered and leaned into his embrace. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed softly as he kissed her chest. His hands, gentle and forgiving, ran across the map of scars on her naked back.

"What about gardening?" she asked suddenly.

"Hmm?" He paused, pulling away to look up at her.

"Gardening," she repeated. "There's a beautiful clearing out past the eastern lawns. Wouldn't it be perfect for a little greenhouse?"

"But I don't know the first thing about gardening!" Blake protested.

"It's alright, I'll teach you," she promised, tracing her fingers across his face as if to memorize every feature. "See, I used to cultivate the temple gardens when I lived with my father in Bhutan. It was one of my favorite chores because it granted me an escape from the cruelty of the League." Her eyes grew distant. "I remember the most unique foxglove flowers would grow in that hostile place-a testament to their determination."

Blake listened raptly. He pulled her closer as if to better peer into this rare glimpse of her bared soul.

"Most people saw only their blossoms. They treated them as ornaments," she continued. "But certain kinds of men could extract something far greater from them."

"Like what?" Blake asked, his curiosity swelling.

"It depended on the character of its master. One man could extract poison, another medicine. The foxglove's potency could either be lethal, or used to save an ailing heart." Shadow's gaze shifted to the present. A smile softened her face. "As for me, I just enjoyed their company."

Blake practically glowed as he basked in the unwitting similarities between Shadow and the foxglove. "Well then, when this is all over, you and I have some work to do on the eastern lawns."

She drew in a deep, contented breath. "Yes, I think so. For now, let's make Alfred's day and be on time for breakfast, shall we?"

But he pulled them both down onto the bed instead. "In a few minutes," he insisted, smiling something devious.

"Blake! We have to- _Blake_!" Their mingled laughter filled the room like the strengthening morning sun.


	61. Dr Pavel

"Sorry we're late," Shadow called. She and Blake hurried to the breakfast table, faces aglow. It was laden with sweet cakes, jellies, and an assortment of fresh fruit. They piled their plates high with zest.

"What will Bruce eat?" Blake jested. Shadow laughed, waiting for Alfred's typical banter. But none came. She looked around and found him in front of the small kitchen television.

"Alfred?" she prompted.

He turned, broken free from his trance. "What was that fellow's name that you mentioned, Pavel?"

Shadow's face fell at the reminder. "Yes, Dr. Pavel. What of him?"

"Police just found his body washed up along the river. It's all over the news."

She looked at Blake gravely. "He gave her the best chance," she said, almost as if to herself.

"What?" Blake leaned forward, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

"The bomb. It is finished."

 _*Russia, 6 months ago*_

 _The front door of the ramshackle house groaned laboriously. A swirling of snow blew across the threshold, coming to rest on the mostly barren floor. An aging gentleman closed the door behind him, hanging up his scarf and coat with a shiver._

" _Masha?" Dr. Pavel called, waiting for the familiar lilting answer of his wife. But he heard only the howl of the wind outside. "Is everything alright, Masha?" he tried again. An urgency filled him then, the kind that comes to one who calls and is not answered._

 _He made for the small bedroom. "Oh," he said, descrying a silhouette on the hard, wooden chair in the corner. "You worried me. I-" He froze. It was not Masha in the chair, but a much younger woman. She watched Dr. Pavel like an animal, with two of the darkest eyes he had ever seen. Fear struck him on the spot._

 _He turned to flee, but she glided across the room, silent as a phantom, and blocked his retreat. "Please," he implored. "Take what you wish, though I do not have much. Just tell me-what have you done with my wife?"_

 _She answered him in his native tongue. "I have sent her to Chicago, to meet up with your daughter."_

" _Please do not involve Anna in this," the scientist begged._

" _She is why you live in this shack of a house, isn't that true? You send her all your money from your research?"_

" _I would give her more if I could." There was an ardent honesty in his words that struck a chord with the stranger._

" _Then you must follow my instructions exactly. Her life depends on it."_

* * *

 _Dr. Pavel wrapped his scarf around his face as he exited the cab and stepped into the snowy street. He was followed by a smaller, feminine figure whose identity hid beneath a balaclava. There was a quiver in the old man's gait that was not attributed to the cold._

 _A gleaming, glass structure loomed before them. The airport stood bravely against the white fury of the storm. They hurried towards its sanctuary._

 _Suddenly, a black SUV screeched onto the street behind the pair. It roared straight at them. "RUN!" the woman shouted, grabbing Dr. Pavel's arm and pulling him away from the curb. Just as they reached a nearby parking lot, gunshots rang out. Bullets ripped into a line of cars as they darted between the rows for shelter._

" _Do not fear," she whispered to the trembling Dr. Pavel. "They won't shoot you; you are too valuable. I will draw them off, but you must not let yourself be captured, understand?"_

" _And my daughter? You said they will kill her?" He clutched at his heart._

 _She nodded gravely. "Yes, if you do not carry out their wishes."_

" _And if I do?"_

" _Then many others will die. I do not envy your position, Dr. Pavel. I'm sorry I could not do more. Now go-find your family before they do."_

" _Wait! Please!" He grabbed hold of her arm as she poised to break away. " You could die for me, and I don't even know who you are."_

 _Sorrow seeped into her small smile. "I am nobody; just a shadow."_

" _But why? Why are you doing this?"_

" _Because death does not scare me. Not so long as it counts." With that, she darted from the protective barrier of cars and dashed across the open pavement._

 _The SUV gave chase. Dr. Pavel watched with a mixture of fear and admiration as she suddenly turned and stared it down. The SUV charged like a massive, black bull. At the last second, she leapt onto the hood and then bounded onto the roof in a single, graceful step. The SUV swerved, throwing her flat. She clung to the edge with a cry. But she could not hold on. She tumbled to the pavement and rolled violently several times._

 _Armed men poured from the SUV. They surrounded the prostrate woman, pointing the muzzles of their guns at her back. Their leader emerged last. He sauntered over slowly, holding the lapels of his jacket with a commanding air. A flurry of snowflakes melted as they landed on his breathing apparatus._

" _Bane," Shadow uttered. She rested a bloody cheek against the pavement. His eyes smiled down at her smugly._

" _Talia, the traitor," he said. Without warning, his foot smashed into the side of her face. She rolled over, holding her jaw and groaning in agony._

" _Shall I dispatch her?" one of Bane's men asked, levelling his gun._

" _No," Bane replied. "The Bat was one of us once. He has been trained to welcome death. It will not be enough to break his body; we must break his spirit as well." He turned his gaze meaningfully to the young woman._

" _No matter what you do, you will not defeat him," she declared. Blood seeped through her teeth, forming a crimson pool beside her._

 _Bane laughed humorlessly. He crouched down and took hold of her chin. "My dear child, you fight for a man who has already forgotten you."_

 _Shadow winced. She squeezed her eyes shut, ashamed. Echoes of their final, fateful fight resounded in her head. She could still hear Bruce's anguished voice:_ "Don't you even realize what you've put me through? And for what?" _For what, indeed._

" _Shush, little one. Do not despair," Bane crooned. "For you will live to see him again. But only that long, and no longer."_

 _He slammed her head into the ground and the world around Shadow turned black. It would be a long time before she saw daylight-or Gotham-again._


	62. War Begins

The stadium roared as a line of black and yellow jerseys trotted onto the football field. Their cheers were incongruent with the dreary clouds that gathered overhead. It seemed as if they were holding their breath, waiting for something macabre to happen.

Mayor Garcia pushed through a throng of clamoring reporters on his way to watch the game. "Sir! Sir! Who do you think will win today?" one of them called above the fervor.

Garcia smiled broadly. "No one stands a chance against Gotham's Knights! It's going to be a great match," he answered.

"Sir! Over here!" another reporter caught his attention. "What do you have to say about the influx of police and SWAT teams heading underground, dressed for war? Is there something we should be worried about?"

The mayor's smile faded. "No, no; it's just a training exercise," he insisted hurriedly. "Now, if you'll please excuse me-," he closed himself into his private viewing box without further ado.

Across town, Gotham's three guardians perched atop a glistening structure. They kept watch over the armies that marched into subway tunnels, sewers, and drainage pipes. Bravely, men and women left the world of light in search of the evil that rotted beneath. Nightwing clenched his fists anxiously as many of his former colleagues disappeared into the darkness.

"They will need help. Please, let me follow them," he insisted.

"Not without me," Batgirl chimed in.

"We are _all_ staying above ground," Batman ordered. "Be patient. I have a feeling we will be needed here."

Suddenly, as if to evince the dark knight's prudence, the complacency of the afternoon was shattered in a series of explosions that rumbled throughout the city. From their vantage point, the three heroes watched in horror as the tunnels were sealed closed by the destruction, trapping hundreds of innocent lives. All across Gotham, they could see plumes of rubble erupting from the underworld in the manifestation of Bane's evil plan.

The windows of the mayor's viewing box shattered in a burst of flames. The center of the field gave way as if swallowed by a great beast below. Armed guards stormed the aisles of the stadium, holding the terrified crowd hostage.

No one noticed a solitary figure emerge from the shadows. He stood on the remains of the field, mic in hand, waiting for the screams to subside. A handful of his soldiers wheeled out a malicious-looking sphere that hinted at its enormity. They set it in plain view of the citizens, as well as the cameras that bore testimony to the wickedness unfolding before the world.

"Gotham," Bane finally addressed the people. "This…this is a fully primed neutron bomb, with a blast radius of six miles." Panic erupted from the stands.

"Silence!" Bane barked. A morbid hush blanketed the stadium. "It is not just a bomb; it is the instrument of your liberation! For we have come to return control of the city to the people!" He lifted his hands like a victorious gladiator.

"But be warned-at the first sign of interference from the outside world, or for those people attempting to flee, I will trigger the bomb," he continued. "We have burned your bridges and lain waste to your roads. For now, martial law is in effect. Return to your homes, hold your families close, and wait. Tomorrow you claim what is rightfully yours!"


	63. The Breaking of the Bat

Bane and his men left the stadium as victorious conquerors. They made for the heart of Gotham, where they would set up new headquarters above ground. No longer did they have to hide in the darkness. They had brought it to the surface with them.

But through the dust of the rubble, a terrifying figure emerged. Batman stood defiantly in their path, flanked by Nightwing and Batgirl. They waited in smoldering silence. The hardened resolve on their faces unsettled the most experienced of Bane's men.

Their leader, however, relished the sight. "Kill the bird," he ordered. "Leave the other two for me."

A swarm of mercenaries went after Nightwing. The hero drew his escrima sticks, poised and ready. Batgirl flew furiously into their path, staving off as many as she could so that only a trickle reached their target. A fierce faithfulness blazed in her blood. She called forth years of intensive training in a breathtaking display of skill. Enemy after unworthy enemy fell from her path.

Meanwhile the two titans stared each other down, savoring their long-awaited moment of introduction. "So thoughtful of you to return Talia," Bane jeered. He took a step sideways.

Batman followed suit. They circled closer in a dance of death. "She is not yours," he growled. His voice seethed with protective anger.

"Are you sure she is _yours_?"

Batman paused, bemused. It elicited a strident laugh from Bane. "She did not tell you, then? How she joined our league willingly? How she pleaded for a hand in Gotham's destruction?"

Something gripped at Batman's heart. He tried to push Bane's words away, but they pried their way in. A could see something taking hold in Shadow's eyes after their encounter with the Joker. It reminded him of the darkness that had lain siege to her father.

Bane saw his moment of weakness. He exploited it, lunging as he struck. Though Batman was swept off balance, his well-honed instincts took over and they parried powerful blows.

Finally, Batman broke through Bane's defense and landed a series of hooks and uppercuts. But the colossal man seemed unaffected. He grabbed hold of the dark knight's cape and spun him to the ground.

"You lie!" Batman shouted, staggering to regain his balance. "You threw her in prison!"

Bane ruthlessly drove his boot into his stomach again and again until Batman collapsed in a groaning heap. "She was my disciple before she was my prisoner," he swore, stalking the prone hero hungrily. His eyes shone with bloodlust. "And I made her into something you never could. You see, I resurrected the darkness you tried so hard to bury."

Batman rolled to his feet and made a reckless assault. Rage was creeping into his mind and fogging his abilities. He swung a hook in his enemy's direction, but Bane stopped his fist midair and drove it back into his face. As he reeled from the impact, he was then kicked in the chest and sent sprawling to the ground. Bane followed, delivering several more savage punches and shattering his cowl.

"But she had spent too much time here," he sneered. "She turned on me, as she had turned on you."

Batman strove for breath-and for clarity. But before he could find either, Bane lifted him into the air. Roaring victoriously, he held him over his head.

In the midst of their own battles, Batgirl and Nightwing caught sight. It froze the blood in their veins. "NOOO!" Batgirl screamed. Horror held her in its terrible grip. Nightwing tried to surge forward, but was held back by a wall of mercenaries. He yelled out in frustration. They watched as if in a nightmare as Bane brought their master down over his knee with a sickening crack.

His body fell to the ground. Bane loomed over the dark knight, basking in his defeat. He seemed suddenly twice as big and twice as evil. Batgirl broke free from her skirmish and charged. She drove him away from Batman's side with passionate fury. Anger burned in her chest. She felt its flames hot on her face.

"Yes, child, fight!" Sadistic pleasure sparked in Bane's eyes. "Just like we trained!" He let her have the upper hand for a minute. Then with wicked ease, he grabbed hold of one of her arms and wrenched it behind her back.

"Tell him," he commanded, turning her to face the man writhing in pain on the ground. Tears streamed down her cheeks to witness his helpless suffering. "Tell him how you thirsted for his defeat! How you _begged_ for Nightwing's death!" He threw her down so that she landed on her knees beside her beaten mentor. Slowly, she lifted her head and met his gaze.

"Shadow..." he uttered wretchedly, gasping for breath. "It isn't true..." But she only stared back in bitter silence. A dreadful understanding washed over him. "Nooo…" he groaned. His body shuddered with the agony of her betrayal. She felt his pain as if it were her own.

"Please," she pleaded, choking on tears. "Don't give up. You _can't_ give up!" She took his face in her bloody hands. A light had been snuffed from his eyes, and it wounded her more than Bane ever could.

Suddenly, Bane grabbed her by the ankles and dragged her away. He placed a heavy boot across Batgirl's chest, pinning her down. She looked up woefully, lacking the will to fight back.

A harrowing laugh fell from his lips. "I may have broken his body, but _you_ have broken his spirit." The cruel truth of his words seeped into her heart like a poison. He leaned farther over her chest, bearing down with his crushing weight. "Now, you have my permission to die."

But at long last, Nightwing succeeded in warding off enough of his enemies to go after Bane. With a vicious cry he barrelled into the giant. Before they hit the ground, Nightwing's fists were raining down on his face. Several of the breathing tubes gave way, having been weakened already by Batman's failed attack.

Bane snarled in pain. He threw Nightwing aside and scrambled to reattach the tubes. The young hero stood in shock and confusion.

" _GO_!" Batman shouted direly. Nightwing's attention snapped to his fallen master. Bane's men were dragging him away. " _I said go_!"

Nightwing hesitated. It would only be moments before Bane sought retribution. Batgirl was climbing shakily to her feet. The battered mercenaries were rallying anew. He knew he had to obey.

"Come on," he urged, taking hold of Batgirl's arm. But she pushed him away.

"We can't just leave him!" she cried.

"We can't save him, either."

"We have to try! Please!"

"No. We have to _live_." Nightwing stared at her, pleading and urgent.

She looked around them. Their escape was slipping out of reach. NIghtwing pulled her away again and this time, she did not resist. A scathing self-hatred filled her heart while they fled, leaving their master to suffer in the hands of their enemy.


	64. Inner Demons

All through the night, Shadow dreamt she was back in Bane's prison. Monsters came to visit her in the dark. Failure whispered in her ear. Gotham burned on the horizon. Blake could only hold her close as Shadow's inner demons tortured her ruthlessly.

The next morning finally came, frigid and dark. Shadow felt the coldness seeping into her soul. She slipped from the bed and made her way to the study alone. She sat in the old armchair, haunted by silence. The despair that she had fought to keep at bay now ran rampant through her mind. If only it were punishment enough.

"Where is your fire?" Alfred's brisk voice gave her a start. "If you're going to brood in here, at least keep warm." He bent down in front of the fireplace and set about with a couple of logs and a poker.

"I don't need a fire, Alfred. Please leave me alone," she snapped, sitting up and wiping her tear-stained face.

"You are a gifted woman, Shadow. But you never learned to ask for help. Of course, Master Wayne was ill-suited to teach you _that_ lesson..." He clucked his tongue. "You both walk around carrying these mountains you were only meant to climb."

An ambitious ember flickered to life. Satisfied, Alfred turned and settled into the desk chair with a long, drawn-out sigh.

Shadow glared at him with dagger-like eyes. To her exasperation, it only made him chuckle. "I know that look from Master Wayne. You're so much like him, it makes me wonder if my salary is high enough."

"I do not deserve to be compared to him," she said bitterly. "I broke him, Alfred."

"Don't you take credit for Bane's work. Don't you let him break you, too," he scolded.

"Maybe he already has," she shot back. "Maybe I was doomed to be like my father after all."

"Well, I agree with you there," Alfred said. Shadow's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Indeed, you carry your father's spirit. But not that maniac, Ra's al Ghul. The spirit of Batman."

She looked away, seething with shame. "No. I am not his daughter. He never should have counted me as such."

"Why's that? Because you made a few mistakes?"

"I turned against everything he taught me, Alfred!"

"And you turned back, didn't you? Why do we fall, Shadow?"

She was left without words, though she knew the answer.

"You see," Alfred continued. "No matter what anyone tried to make you, you chose your own path. And that was the path of a hero. You did that against your father's wishes, against Bane's wishes, even when it was against Bruce's wishes."

As his words sank in, Alfred stoked the fire. Lively flames leapt forth, casting an amber glow over the room. When he was finished, he turned and faced her sternly. "It's who you are, Shadow. And it's what Gotham needs right now. You don't have time to sulk."

She closed her eyes tightly. Shadow could feel her heart shaking off the cold. Several long, silent minutes passed. Then his hand was on her shoulder. She looked up into his encouraging eyes.

"There was a time when I sat next to Master Wayne and assured him _you_ would come home. Please, listen to me when I say that he will return. He won't let this city be vanquished. He's too bloody stubborn."

The fire crackled before them with a zealous blaze. The old butler looked to her like a hero suddenly, unmasked and unsung.

Finally, she spoke. "How does it feel, Alfred? To always be right?"

"Well," he said with a humble shrug. "We all have our mountains to carry."

* * *

Author's Note: Just wanted to give continued thanks for all the comments! I'm sorry about uploading the chapters at such a quick pace; I've been dedicating most of my free time to writing. I even scribble stuff down while I'm at the gym haha. And I get so excited to share it with you :-). Anyways, thanks for sticking with me so far! I hope you keep liking what you read!


	65. Bouncing Back

Blake awoke with a start. The bed was empty and cold. "Oh no," he uttered. "Where have you gone, Shadow?" His heart raced. He feared he might be too late to stop her from doing something reckless.

He dashed through the gaping halls of the mansion, making his way to the service elevator. Cold, damp air rushed over his sweat-slicked skin as he descended into the Bat Cave.

The sound of punches landing turned his attention to a recess in the cave walls. Blake smiled, relieved.

Shadow's lean, sinewy body moved with exquisite precision, exploding into the maize bags placed around the mats. Here she struck with the art of shaolin, there was a note of muay thai. She rolled along the ground with jiu-jitsu, then sprang at her imaginary opponent with judo.

Determination emanated from her like a fire. Blake could practically feel the heat of its flames as he watched, leaning his shoulder against the wall in awe. Shadow was back.

The young woman faltered, catching sight of his unabashed stare. Her demeanor softened. "Hey," she hailed, wiping the sweat from her brow. "I...I owe you an apology."

He squinted at her quizzically. "What for? That sloppy footwork?" Blake threw up his arms defensively, blocking the inevitable retaliation. Shadow swept him to the floor, undeterred, and pinned him down while she made a mess of his hair.

"Okay, okay, I deserved that," Blake laughed, sitting up halfway. "Now, let me see those hands…" He began to unravel her wraps. Shadow smiled at him gratefully, still straddled over the top of his legs.

She took a deep breath as he finished. "I should have told you the truth. I'm sorry that I gave Bane the power to use it against us." She looked away, unable to meet Blake's eyes. "Everything he said was true, you know. I wanted Nightwing's death. I…I promised to be his executioner even. I didn't know it was you."

Blake's eyes squeezed shut. It was painful to picture her yielding to the darkness.

"When I heard that Bruce had taken a new partner, it made me feel spurned, rejected. It took me a long time to realize that I could never take a life. But by then it was too late. Bane's plan was already in motion."

"Why didn't you just come back to Gotham?" Blake asked, opening tearful eyes and brushing Shadow's hair behind her ear.

"Because I believed that Bruce had forgotten me."

"No." He shook his head adamantly. "We never forgot about you."

Shadow reflected on the parting words of an old friend. She wished with all her might that she had listened to Omar that day. "I wanted to tell you all this time," she said. "I was just too afraid. Afraid of being spurned and rejected again. But I understand if...if you want to change your mind."

"Change my mind?"

"About this. About us." She straightened her shoulders, trying to hide how anxious she was of his decision.

"Shadow…I'm sorry..."

"Oh." She winced as if she had been struck. Then, nodding her respectful concession, she began to climb to her feet.

Blake grasped her hands, pulling her back down. "I'm sorry...but nothing can change my mind," he finished, "See, I have something to confess as well. The other night, when we went after Daggett, I heard the things Barsad said to you. I've known ever since then that you joined the League willingly."

She fumbled for words. "What-I mean-how come you weren't mad?"

"Because you also left the League willingly. Not many people can come back from the wilderness like that. Their own wilderness, I mean. It takes immense strength." He touched her face with a tender hand. "And just so you know, I'm standing right where I belong, too. I belong with you."

Shadow's chest sank with relief. Blake's forgiveness flooded her heart, drowning out the last of her fears. She leaned forward, brushing his lips with hers. "Never again will I abandon my rightful place," she promised. "So long as I fight, it will be here. It will be at your side."

She kissed him ardently, yearning for another taste of his infallible hope. Blake reciprocated with equal passion. Their bodies melted together like sunset on the horizon.

They had lost a battle, yes. But in those glorious moments, Shadow felt sure that they had the strength to win the war.


	66. An Army

"Come quickly!" Alfred shouted, paying no heed to the omelettes dying on the counter.

Blake and Shadow had just come up from the Bat Cave together. As they hurried into the kitchen, they heard Bane's voice drifting from the little, old television. He stood before Gotham's prison with cold, pale autumn sunlight on his shoulders. Tanks crouched beside him like massive guard dogs. " _Today, people of Gotham, you are free! The city is yours! Do as you please!"_ His host of mercenaries roared. Shadow snarled at the screen.

" _Too long have your crusaders loomed over you,"_ Bane continued. _"But they will interfere no more! For Nightwing and Batgirl will be killed on sight, and I have captured the Bat."_ Blake's eyes stung with tears at the bitter memory of his master's defeat. Shadow's fists clenched at her sides. " _In addition, we will round up every badge in this city that is still above ground and hold them accountable for their oppression_!" Another roar erupted.

Bane waved at the tanks. Slowly, they turned towards the prison. "No!" Shadow blurted out. Her heart thumped frantically in her chest. Several blasts shattered the morning air as the prison gates crumbled into a dusty heap. Scores of criminals emerged from the wreckage, blinking in the brightness of day. As their newfound freedom dawned on them like the autumn sun, they whooped with elated war-cries and swarmed their new leader.

" _Step forward, those who would serve! Let an army be raised!_ "

From the grim silence of the kitchen, Gotham's two young heroes watched the nightmare unleashing into their city. They wished more than ever that Bruce was standing beside them. Blake took Shadow's hand and gripped it tightly. "Well," he said, swallowing. "I take half, you take half?"

"Blake-!" she said with sudden urgency. "Gordon's in danger! We have to get to the hospital; they'll go after him first!"

They didn't waste another second. Alfred even forgave them for skipping breakfast.


	67. Knight Terrors

Bruce's jaw clenched as he listened to Bane's speech on the fuzzy television that sat against the cell wall. The doctor listened as well, but only idly so. He had been there when Bruce awoke for the first time.

" _Why didn't Bane just kill me?" he asked. "Why throw me in this place, this Pit?" He could barely make out what the prison looked like. Around him swam a sea of shapes, some darker than others but all lacking in color or clarity. The doctor tended his wounds with an apathetic hand, causing Bruce to cry out in pain._

" _Because you are a man he has looked forward to breaking," the doctor answered plainly. "He wants you to watch your city turn to ashes. Then he will probably kill you."_

" _Then why bother healing me?" Bruce retorted._

" _Because he pays me to keep you alive. For the time being."_

Outrage seized Bruce's heart as Bane demolished the prison gate and criminals flooded the streets of his beloved Gotham. He was responsible for putting many of those men away. And now Bruce felt utterly helpless, languishing in this hell hole while his life's work unraveled before his very eyes.

He thought of Blake and Shadow, left to defend the city alone. " _Will be killed on sight_." Bane's words echoed in his head. Bruce grew restless. He needed to protect them, but he could not even stand. And Shadow-a tear rolled down his cheek at the memory of her face, pleading with him not to give up. He had to see her one more time. He had to tell her that he forgave her.

A weariness seeped into Bruce's muscles like a poison. It wrapped tendrils of slumber around his mind and pulled him away from the present.

He dreamt he was back in the Bat Cave, though it was not the Bat Cave yet. A dark-haired little girl smiled up from beside him. It was the moment he realized she had become like a daughter to him. Ambitious plans swirled in their heads, waiting for the breath of life.

Then someone moved in the blackness. Bruce staggered as he recognized the man's broad shoulders and distinctive, dark eyes-eyes that Shadow had inherited.

"What are you doing here?" he asked Ra's al Ghul angrily.

"You took something from me," the man said. His voice rolled through the cave like thunder. Or was that just the sound of the waterfall nearby? "She is not yours." But as he advanced towards them menacingly, his visage changed.

"You do not belong here, Talia," Bane's voice slithered through the air. "He will see to it you leave this place. And you will return to your birthright when he does."

"No, she is not one of you," Bruce declared. He glanced down at the little girl. Her lips trembled, though she did not let herself whimper. Bruce's protectiveness swelled as she nuzzled into his side, clutching one of his hands tightly. If only he could protect the child from her own future.

"And what would you have her be?" Ra's al Ghul had returned. "A shadow? Trapped between the darkness of my world and the shining light of yours?"

The cave around them dissolved. They were standing in her bedroom. She held her ribs as the Joker's stab wounds smarted. "You asked me to be invisible," she lamented. "You asked me to be the daughter of a symbol. Yet you would cast me out into a world that cannot see me, a world of glaring mediocrity."

"I did it out of love," he contended. His voice strained with despair. "My life is not my own. I will die for Gotham someday. How could I ask you for such a sacrifice? I was trying to save you!"

"And how can you save me now?" she asked, her eyes growing darker and darker. "As you lie here in this hole, this prison?" Bruce looked around. He was back in the Pit. She stood at his bedside, wearing the mantle of sacrifice he had bestowed upon her. "He will kill me," Batgirl told him. "And he wants to kill Nightwing."

"No!" he vowed. "I will save you. I will escape this place!"

"None can escape," she said dolefully. "We are all prisoners of our fate. You cannot save me from mine-it is that of my father's."

"He died trying to _destroy_ Gotham. You came back to _save_ it."

"It is not saved yet. And I was not talking about Ra's al Ghul." She smiled at him, but never was there more sorrow in a smile. "We need you, Bruce. Gotham is running out of time. _I_ am running out of time."

" _No_!" he cried, trying to rise. But his body would not move. He reached out desperately for her face, but she was just out of reach. "I am coming, Shadow. Please...hold on…" She faded into the darkness, leaving behind a poignant void. "Shadow, NO!" he shouted. He sat up with a start. His broken back screamed in pain. His body ached in a thousand places.

"Who is Shadow?" the doctor asked. He was standing at Bruce's bedside where she had just been. "And why does she torment you so?"


	68. Saving Gordon

Alone in his hospital bed, the commissioner tried to get some rest. But both sleep and reality were haunted by nightmares. Gotham was crumbling under Bane's tyranny, and now their greatest hero had been captured. Gordon's hand went to the bedside table and grasped a photograph. The faces of his wife, son and daughter smiled back at him. His heart ached.

"Stay safe," he muttered. Last time he heard from his wife, she said they were going into hiding with Captain Jones, a friend from the force. Gordon closed his eyes, whispering a silent prayer for them.

He was interrupted by a flurry of gunshots coming from the lobby. The commissioner sat up hastily. Pain shot through his back, prompting him to remember his injury from the tunnels. He slumped over with a groan.

The walls shook as doors were slammed open one by one. The halls filled with terrified screams. Gordon gritted his teeth with a grim realization. Bane's men were looking for him.

Back in the lobby, Gotham's two remaining heroes burst through the entrance. Nurses huddled behind the counter. "Which way?" Batgirl cried. They pointed frantic fingers in the direction of the gunmen. She and Nightwing bolted down the hall, with seconds ticking by like decades. Their feet pounded as fast as their hearts.

Two gunshots cracked through the air. "No, it can't be…" Batgirl uttered. Dread stopped her breath. Tears pricked at her eyes. She raced with all urgency to the doorway, grasping the frame as she slid to a stop.

"Gordon!" she shouted desperately. The door was slightly ajar. Nightwing pushed it open and rushed into the room.

"You're late," came the commissioner's voice. He stood over the inert bodies of two assassins, gun in hand.

Batgirl blew out a sigh of relief. "Glad to see you are alright," she said.

He flashed her an affectionate smile. "Same for you two. Is it true-Bane has Batman?" She nodded gravely. "Then you'll need my help." He wrapped his holster around his waist, wincing as it crossed his back.

"No, Gordon," Nightwing objected. "You're going to lay low for awhile."

"There are others who stayed above ground. They need my help. Get my coat, will you?"

"We'll find them," Batgirl assured, handing Gordon his jacket.

"These are my men. I can't just abandon them." She couldn't help but admire the commissioner. His honorable sense of duty struck a chord.

"You're injured," Nightwing reminded him. "And your family needs you."

"I took care of my family. And I can take care of myself." Gordon stared back at them with dogged resolve.

Nightwing turned to Batgirl. "He takes out two cronies and look at the nerve!" he said, grinning facetiously. She tried to suppress a laugh.

"You encourage this guy?" Gordon scoffed.

"I'm afraid so," she smiled back. Nightwing's chest puffed with pride.

Gordon shook his head, chuckling softly. "Why don't we discuss this somewhere safer. I know of a place."


	69. Under Siege

Autumn bled into winter as Bane's occupation persisted. An inhospitable freeze held Gotham hostage. Hopelessness strangled the streets with quiet despair. Every silhouette, every distant sound took on a menacing quality. Citizens cowered in their homes, stripped of the comfort of familiarity and routine.

A car pulled up outside of a nondescript house on the edge of town. It had seen better days, but stood stubbornly against winter's siege. Commissioner Gordon got out of the driver's seat. From the other side, a weary middle-aged man emerged. He glanced around furtively.

"It's alright, Peterson. We're safe here," Gordon promised. "Captain Jones has been harboring refugees from the force."

"There are others here?" the man asked.

"Yes. As many as I could find."

Peterson looked comforted. He followed Gordon into the unassuming doorway. A little boy rushed forward, wrapping his arms around Gordon's legs. "Hey Jimmy," the commissioner laughed, rumpling the hair on his head and stooping to his level. "You've been good for your mom?" The little boy nodded and pressed into his father's chest.

A woman appeared and helped Peterson settle in. "We're running low again," she said to Gordon in passing.

"Then they'll be by soon," he replied. Batgirl and Nightwing had their hands full trying to keep citizens safe from the brazened criminals who ran amok on the streets. But still, they had been faithful to bring about supplies on a regular basis.

Gordon's confidence in the young heroes was rewarded. Later that evening, just as dusk was darkening the winter sky, Jimmy came running into the living area. "They're here! I saw them!" he cried joyously. Several men and women got to their feet at the little boy's announcement, ready to help bring in the bounty.

"Not yet," a voice commanded. A man with dark brown skin waved them back. He was tall and well-built, with an air of quiet confidence that humbled the officers who worked beneath him. Gordon joined him and together they made their way to the rundown garage that crouched next to the house.

Two figures waited in the dim circle of light that swung from a tired bulb. Boxes of food and supplies were stacked at their feet. "Sorry it isn't much," Nightwing apologized. "We'll bring more in a few days. Hopefully it will still be enough to deliver some to the tunnels."

"It's alright; we aren't the only ones helping on that front," Gordon assured him. "There are more good people in this city than Bane figured." As Gordon drew closer, he spied bruises marring the young man's cheeks. Batgirl's nose had been bloodied recently. "Ran into some trouble?"

"Just the usual," Nightwing smirked. But Gordon picked up an air of despondency shrouding the two. "So what about your scouts? Have they learned anything yet?" Nightwing inquired of the captain.

"Yes, but I'm not sure how helpful it is," Jones replied. "There are three trucks that circle the city continuously. They are military grade and crawling with mercenaries. We think one of them carries the bomb. The other two must be decoys."

"Do they have a set route?" Nightwing asked, his interest roused.

"It doesn't appear so. But we can't risk getting close to the bomb anyways. Surely they'd have communication with Bane and he'd just detonate it?"

Batgirl and Nightwing exchanged glances. "What is it?" Gordon prompted.

"The bomb..." Batgirl said, struggling to deliver the terrible news. "It doesn't require Bane to detonate."

"What?" Jones cried. "What do you mean?"

"Its core is unstable; the design is inherently flawed. From our best calculations, we may only have three weeks before it goes off on its own."

A grim silence blanketed the group, weighing heavily on their shoulders. Outside, the sun sank to its death, slain by the abominable dark of a winter's night. The wind howled as it stalked the garage and pried at the rafters.

Finally, Gordon spoke up. ""Have you learned anything else on the whereabouts of Batman? Do you think he's still alive?"

"He is not in the city," Batgirl answered. "But Bane will not kill him. Not until Gotham is destroyed." Her answer did little to comfort them.

Nightwing alone clung to a stubborn optimism. "Then if we save Gotham, we save Batman," he said, offering a small smile in her direction.

"My scouts will keep track of the trucks. Just in case," Jones promised.

"And we'll keep searching for Bane," Nightwing encouraged. "We'll find him. We'll stop him." An ember of hope burned gently in the hearts of his listeners. "Now come on, let's get this stuff inside."

* * *

Nightwing and Batgirl watched as the last box was carried into the house and gratefully received. They could hear Jimmy's delighted shrieks when he found the comic books Nightwing had snuck in.

"Those always gave me hope when I was at the boys' home," Blake said. He turned to Shadow, who looked back at him with a strange half-smile. "What?" he laughed.

"Thank-you," she said. "For never losing that hope." She pulled him to her lips for a fervent kiss. He yielded gladly, winding his arms around her waist.

Gordon cast a glance out the window. His brow furrowed when he spied the two heroes in their passionate embrace. Surely she knew by now that Blake was still alive? He hadn't talked to the young man since he quit the force. For a moment, Gordon worried about what might have become of him. Then something tugged at his memory-a conversation on a park bench about rules being shackles and structures that failed. "That son of a gun," Gordon whispered under his breath. An incredulous smile beamed from his face. "He didn't quit after all."


	70. Dinner For Two

"Let me guess-you should see the other guy?" Fox teased as Blake and Shadow exited the tumbler, battered and bloody.

"Other _guys_. There was more than one. Lots, actually," Blake shot back. The dull gray light of dawn permeated the Bat Cave. It had been a long night of fighting crime in the lawless city.

"So how did your meeting with Gordon and Jones go?" Fox asked, pushing away from the supercomputer and rubbing at his eyes. It had been a long night for him as well.

"We told them about your findings," Shadow said. "Thank-you again, for all your research."

"Don't thank me until you stop the darn thing. Just make sure to do it soon."

"Well, Jones has located it at least," she replied. "He believes it's in one of three trucks circling the streets. We located them tonight, but our scanners won't penetrate. They must be lead-lined."

"Then we'll have to think of something else. You two go rest up for now; you look awful." Fox turned back to the keyboard without so much as a good-night.

Blake grinned wryly. "You're as bad as Alfred!"

Upstairs, they wolfed down their dinner with a velocity that fascinated the old butler. "I don't enjoy seeing you this beat up, but I do appreciate the appetite it gives you," Alfred remarked. He rose and collected the dishes. His familiar shuffle retreated into the kitchen, followed by the sound of rushing sink water. Shadow stared pensively at the empty seat across from them.

"Hey," Blake said, reading her silence. "He'll come back." He slung an arm around the young woman and drew her close. She nestled against his side, resting her cheek on his chest.

"You and Alfred are so certain of that," she replied. "But you didn't see the look in his eyes. I've never seen him that...defeated." She shuddered at the memory.

"He's _Batman_ ," Blake pointed out. "He's not defeated that easily."

She grunted a reluctant concession. "Do you think...do you think he forgives me?" she asked softly.

"I believe he does," came the sincere answer. Shadow closed her eyes, wanting to believe it, too.

Wayne Manor didn't feel right without Bruce. Everywhere she turned there was a reminder of him, a reminder of what they had built together. Shadow's heart broke to realize it must have been similarly difficult for Bruce while she was gone.

She looked up at Blake, in need of his stalwart hope.

"It's all going to be okay," he assured, answering her silent appeal. He traced his fingers along her arm. "You'll see. Night is always darkest just before the dawn."

She sighed, allowing Blake's faith to seep into her troubled heart. A comforting thought came to mind just then-how Blake must have helped Bruce in the same way.

"I'm so grateful you were here for him, when I was not." Shadow drew an arm across his chest. "He'd probably never admit it, but...people like us, we need people like you. The kind who can always find light in the darkest of places. You're our tether to that light."

She let her lips wander up the side of his neck until they found his smile, where she left a tender kiss. His eyes shone into hers as she pulled away.

"Well, I'm grateful that I can be here for you now." He squeezed her tighter still. "Though I _do_ miss Bruce's training sessions," he added.

She tilted her head quizzically.

"It's just, his lessons were a walk in the park compared to yours. I think I prefer Bane's assassins!"

Shadow laughed heartily. A grin lingered on her face. "Quit your sobbing," she chided. "Or you'll _really_ be begging for mercy."

"You promise?" He winked, looking rather pleased at the prospect.

" _Blake_!" she smacked his chest, but let him pull her in for another kiss. "Well," she purred, a sultry glint in her eyes. "If that's what you want." They left the table hand-in-hand.


	71. Deshi Basara

Chanting swarmed the air around Bruce. It resonated against the stone walls that he climbed as if to lend him strength. A breeze played at the hair on the back of his neck, whispering of freedom. The azure sky beckoned from above; it looked close enough to touch.

With a cry of exertion, Bruce pulled himself over the ledge. One more leap and he would rise out of this wretched place. He crouched, calling upon all the strength left in his muscles. An anticipatory hush fell over the crowd of spectating prisoners. They stopped mid-chant, peering upwards with mouths agape.

Bruce soared through the dusty air. His fingers scraped at the upper ledge. "NO!" he screamed as it slipped from his reach. He slammed against the wall, suspended by the rope around his chest. It snapped taut and squeezed the air from his lungs with the crushing weight of his failure.

The crowd dispersed below. Another day, another disappointment.

* * *

"What is the purpose of that wall?" Bruce later asked the doctor over their evening rations. "I have tried it for weeks now. It is impossible."

"Then why do you keep trying?"

"Because my city is burning. I have to save it. I cannot die here." Bitter tears welled at his words.

"So then you still have hope. That is what Bane wants. Without hope, there can be no true despair."

The old man slipped into silence for a few moments to better relish the final bites of his supper. "And it is not impossible," he added quietly, almost as if to himself.

"Someone has made it before?" Bruce looked up with sudden intrigue. The doctor nodded. "How? Tell me more," Bruce pleaded. "How did he do it?"

" _She_ ," the doctor corrected. "And the child did it without a rope."

"The child?" Bruce's eyes flew wide. "What crime could a child have committed to warrant a sentence in _this_ place?"

"It was her father's crime; she was doomed to pay for his sins. Her light was dimmed before she could even draw breath."

"Who was the father?"

"A mercenary. He worked for a local warlord and fell in love with the man's daughter. They were married in secret. When the warlord found out, he condemned the young man to rot here. But his daughter was an exceptional creature. She willingly took her husband's place in hell. The mercenary was exiled instead, unaware of her true fate."

The woman's selflessness moved Bruce. He drew closer, listening intently.

"She was with child when she arrived. I delivered her myself," the doctor continued. "The warlord had at least enough pity to secure their segregation from the other prisoners. It was a harsh and lonely existence, but a safe one. Then the warden grew careless. He forgot to lock her gate one day. A horde of men burst in here like bloodthirsty animals."

Bruce's heart ached for the woman and the cruelty of her plight. "They killed her?"

"Yes. But she fought fiercely for her child's life first. And she was granted that much. The girl made it to the wall and climbed bravely to her freedom. Many would have simply accepted defeat. But the child was born with the will to act." A small smile curled the corner of his mouth. "She got that from her mother, you know."

"What became of the child?" Bruce asked.

"She found her father, the mercenary. He returned to avenge his love. It was a terrible, bloody day. I was spared, however, as I had been the one to care for Talia and her mother."

" _Talia_?!" Bruce leapt to his feet suddenly. "That was the child's name? Are you sure?"

"Yes. I have never lied to you. And you ask too many questions." The doctor collected his empty bowl and left Bruce to steep in this new revelation.

Slowly, Bruce sank back to the floor. He thought of the prisoner, Ra's al Ghul's great love. It was her death that had poisoned his spirit of justice. A sympathy for his mentor stirred in Bruce's heart. He better understood the thought of losing such a stalwart woman.

He pictured Shadow's dark eyes, as he often did. Bruce recognized the sorrow in their depths now. Her life had been a tragedy from the beginning. But it had also been a tale of bravery, like her mother's. She had not hesitated to leap aboard a doomed train when her father attempted to destroy Gotham. She had not been afraid of confronting the Joker alone. And even when she thought Bruce would stand in her way, it did not stop her from going after Bane's reactor. All along, Shadow had the courage to do what was necessary.

Bruce drew up his shoulders. "Thank-you," he said to the doctor. There was an air of finality in his words.

"Hmm?" The old man turned. "What's that you are doing now?" He watched as Bruce bundled up the rest of his supper and a canteen of water. "Why are you packing?"

"Because I'm going home." He turned towards the wall and towards Gotham's redemption.

The doctor's smile was an amused one. "Oh, one more thing. Just in case you make it, by some miracle of heaven, there is something you should know-about Bane."


	72. Something Amiss

As promised, Nightwing and Batgirl returned a few days later with more supplies for Jones and the others. But when they arrived, the house was eerily silent. They glanced at each other with the same unsettled look. Something was amiss.

Batgirl climbed up one of the sides, peering cautiously through a window that spilled yellow lamp light from its humble frame. Little Jimmy lay stomach-down on a mattress, gazing at the open pages of a comic book. His face was aglow with childish wonder. She smiled at the sweetness of the scene.

Then she inched along towards another window. What she saw this time was not as heartening. A woman sat against the wall with her knees drawn up. She was crying into her hands as though trying to soften the sound. It was Commissioner Gordon's wife.

Batgirl gestured for Nightwing to keep guard and then quietly opened the window and slipped inside. The woman gave a start when she heard footsteps approaching.

"Shh, it's okay," Batgirl coaxed, coming to her side. "What is it Barbara? What's wrong?"

Barbara rubbed her tear-ridden eyes. "It's Jim," she said dejectedly. "He and the others, they left to bring food to the tunnels near the central station. They were supposed to return hours ago. I've tried and tried to page them. But...I think something terrible has happened." Her shoulders shook under the weight of her presumption. "Jimmy doesn't know. I can't say anything. Not until...not until I know for sure." She bit her lip, holding back another flood. Her maternal bravery touched Shadow's heart.

But the news was distressing. Bruce's absence wore heavily on the young woman; she could not bear the thought of losing their beloved commissioner as well. Her mind drifted years back to a cold and rainy alley. She pictured Batman sprawled on the ground, unconscious. She could still remember the fear that pounded in her chest-fear that was assuaged by Gordon's kind and unexpected presence. He had reached for her hand in a show of comfort that defined his endearing disposition.

He had been Gotham's hero before Shadow ever was. And it was his wife who needed that comfort now.

"Look at me, Barbara," she ordered gently, taking hold of the woman's hands. "You are strong. You have to keep being strong for a little while longer." Barbara straightened her shoulders, collecting herself. "We will do our best for him, I promise you that. He always did his best for us."

Barbara gave the young woman a weak smile. "I never said thank you. For everything that you've done for my family."

Batgirl smiled back. "And you'll never have to."

* * *

Shadow reunited with Blake below and shared the disturbing news. "So where do we start?" he asked, clenching his fists at his side.

"Here," she said. "You go towards the bridge, I'll make my way towards downtown. We'll have to split up; we need to cover as much ground as possible."

As prudent as her idea was, Blake found himself reluctant. They would be much more vulnerable separated. Gotham had suffered enough losses already.

"Okay," he said begrudgingly. "But Shadow?" He cupped her face in his hands and looked her in the eye. "If you ever need me, just say the word. I'll be there-I promise. So long as I fight, it will be at your side."

Her heart skipped a beat at the unprompted return of her vow. She rushed to his lips, taking from them a sudden, passionate kiss. Her hands strayed around his back, pulling him close in a final embrace. "I know," she whispered. And then she was gone.


	73. The Thief

A little girl raced down the street fast as she could, kicking up flurries of snow. Long, honey colored hair bounced with every breath. She clutched a stolen parcel of food underneath one arm, grinning in her not-yet-won success.

A patch of ice put an end to her smugness-as well as her escape. Her feet shot straight out, sending her onto her back. Within moments, the purple winter sky was blotted out by a circle of angry looking men. One of them snatched the parcel away.

"Isn't it past your bedtime, sweetheart?" he sneered.

Her eyes narrowed. " _Nobody_ calls me sweetheart!" she declared. She sprang at him with an audacity stronger than her fists and they tussled together for the food.

After a few moments, he grabbed her by the hood and swung her into the air as if scruffing an unruly puppy. "Calm down, will ya?" he scolded. But she did not acquiesce. She thrashed about angrily, eliciting a round of laughter from the thugs. With a snarl, she latched onto the man's arm and used her grip to swing a foot into his ribs.

He dropped her out of surprise. At the same time, the parcel slipped from under his other arm. She rolled on top of it just like her father had taught her to protect a football.

"Who do you think you are?!" The man shouted, shoving his foot into her stomach. The other thugs closed in, hungry for more violence. She curled up tight as she could and covered her head as she awaited more cruel blows. But suddenly the beating stopped. Nervously, she opened her eyes and looked up. Their malignance had turned against someone else.

The little girl stared in awe as Nightwing battled all five of them at once. He was light on his feet, bounding off the pavement and even his opponents in a way that reminded her of the acrobats she had seen at a circus once.

His gracefulness was cut cruelly short when his foot slipped on the same patch of ice that had hindered her own escape. The back of his head struck the ground hard, momentarily dazing him.

The two remaining ruffians chuckled at their stroke of luck. With a wicked grin, one of them pulled a pistol and shoved it against the hero's forehead. "Didn't you hear Bane?" he taunted. "This city ain't yours anymore!"

But as he cocked the gun, something crashed into his legs. Both he and the little girl went careening into the pavement. She immediately went for his throat, a vicious sound erupting from her own.

The gun landed by Nightwing's head. He kicked it out of reach and went after the other thug, who was no match for Nightwing's skill. It only took one well-placed punch to bring him to the ground.

Meanwhile, the girl found herself in trouble yet again. She cringed as her attacker's fist drew back, poised above her face. But it never landed, for he felt the tip of Nightwing's escrima stick against his spine. "Walk away now," the crusader warned. "Or you won't be able to." The man didn't have to be told twice. He cast his dignity aside and fled the scene.

Nightwing sheathed his escrima stick, holding his other hand out to the little girl. "I'm okay, really," she declared, climbing to her feet without his help. She dusted off her tattered clothes.

He couldn't help but grin at her pluck. "You're lucky I was in the neighborhood. How old are you?"

"Ten, almost eleven," she answered.

"Well here's a tip," he said, walking over and picking up the parcel of food. "Don't take something from somebody you can't outrun." He handed it to the little girl. She clutched it to her chest like a hard-earned trophy.

"I had things under control," she insisted. "But hey, we made a pretty good team, didn't we?" The little girl's smile beamed up at him.

Nightwing laughed. He had expected her to be a lot more shaken up by her experience. "What's your name, anyways?"

"Stephanie. It was my mom's middle name."

Nightwing's eyes softened at her use of past tense. "You shouldn't be out here alone you know, even if you are a good scrapper," he cautioned gently. "Where's your father? Do you have one?"

"Yeah, sure," she said. "He went to check out that hullaballoo at the courthouse. Said it wasn't for kids. I hate it when he calls me a kid."

"Hullaballoo?!" Nightwing exclaimed. His face grew suddenly solemn.

"Yeah, he uses that word a lot. He said it means like a-,"

"No, I know what it means. Keep out of trouble, okay? And thanks for the help!" He dashed away unceremoniously.

" _Shadow_ ," he said into his communicator mid-stride. _"I know where they are_."


	74. Judgment Day

Gotham's courthouse was in an uproar, the likes of which its walls had never seen before. Torn books and paper lay strewn about the floor, casualties of chaos. Unruly hordes of criminals jeered as Gordon and his men were brought before the bench. Guards prodded with the barrels of their guns, forcing them to their knees.

Gordon looked up at the towering bench. Presiding at the top was a lanky man with unkempt, greasy hair that feathered out in all directions, enhancing his air of madness. He lounged with a spindly leg over one arm of the chair. A lurid smile snaked its way across his face at sight of the commissioner.

"Who let you out of Arkham Asylum, Scarecrow?" Gordon demanded. He was answered with a boisterous banging of the gavel.

"Disorder! Disorder in the court!" Scarecrow cried gleefully. The crowd whooped and cried with wild abandon. A volley of rotten fruit flew at the prisoners. Gordon doubled over in pain when a large apple core struck his temple. He groaned, rubbing the side of his head. All sounds went mute except for the ringing in his ears.

At first he thought his hearing had gone out. Then he realized that everyone's attention had fallen on a single figure in front of the courtroom. A monstrous man glowered at them, his eyes sparking with cruelty. The silence was so stark, Gordon could hear every breath behind his fiendish mask.

"We have waited long enough for your heroes to show themselves," Bane said. His commanding voice carried easily over the hushed crowd. "But it appears they have abandoned you. Proceed with the sentencing!"

Scarecrow postured up. "Yes, yes. I hereby declare you guilty. Every single one of you!"

The spectators howled their approval, banging against the floors and walls with fervor. At Gordon's side, Peterson began to tremble. The commissioner placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Then he bravely stood to address the courtroom.

"We gave you due process when it was your turn," Gordon said. There was a note of righteous anger in his voice that subdued the raucous masses. "Where is our due process? Where is our justice?"

Scarecrow's eyes lit up with amusement. He placed a finger on his chin in consideration. "Very well," he said at last. "A choice. I shall give you a choice."

Gordon squared his jaw suspiciously. "Go on."

"You may choose between death...or exile."

A murmur ran through the crowd. People pressed forward, eagerly awaiting the answer.

"And if we choose exile?" Gordon asked.

"You must walk across the river and leave Gotham forever."

"It isn't frozen all the way through!"

"Hence the 'leave Gotham forever' part." Scarecrow's face grinned with infuriating smugness.

"If you think we're going to walk across that river willingly, you've got another think coming," Gordon snapped.

"Then you choose death?"

"Sure looks that way." At Gordon's answer, Peterson buried his face in his hands. A few of the others broke down too.

Scarecrow pounded the gavel zealously. "Hear now, hear now! I sentence these prisoners to death!" The crowd went crazy. "-by exile!"

Bane nodded, pleased. He waved to his soldiers, who herded the prisoners out of the courtroom with guns. Gordon's heart sank. Throngs of criminals pressed in around them, taunting them all the way.

"Get on with it," the guards barked, pushing them towards the edge of the river. Silken moonlight washed over its frozen banks. A sinister darkness shrouded the other side, as if death himself were waiting there for them.

Gordon's children flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard, grimly accepting his fate. Then he took the first step. Jones came second, followed by several more. The ice groaned, threatening to betray them at any moment. They spread out as wide as they could, flinching at every crack that rent through the frigid night air.

A multitude of onlookers raced to the banks, crowing gleefully. But suddenly their cries changed in tune, from victory to confusion. Gordon turned around. "Stop!" he ordered his men. "Don't walk any further!"

Tendrils of smoke had seeped through the assembly of guards, obscuring them from view. Strangled cries rang out from within. A few gunshots went off. Then, there was only an ominous silence.

Two figures remained standing when the smoke cleared. Nightwing and Batgirl had come to their rescue after all.

"Kill them! Kill them now!" Bane roared. The spectators broke free from their spell. They rose up in an angry tide, rushing at the heroes and swallowing them up in their murderous midst.

"What are you waiting for?" Gordon yelled. Intrepidly, he ran to the aid of Gotham's guardians. His men followed, a new hope in their hearts and battle cries in their throats. The two sides clashed in a showdown of order and outlaws.

" _Nightwing!"_ Batgirl's call rose above the din. The young man scanned the hectic scene, searching urgently for his partner. He spotted her nearby, though she was not looking back at him. Her eyes were locked on something in front of the courthouse. He followed her gaze to a menacing figure standing on the steps. Light from the doorway spilled forth, parting around him as if to flee from his evil.

"We must not let him get away!" Batgirl cried. She plunged into the fray, making straight towards Bane.

"Batgirl, wait!" Nightwing warned, setting off after her. But suddenly he found himself tumbling through the muddy snow. Someone had knocked him clear off his feet. Dazed, he looked up at the maroon tunic of an enemy he had faced once before.

Barsad looked upon him with a chilling smile. "I will cherish your death, boy. Are you ready to die?"

Nightwing rolled to his feet. "Not tonight!" he avowed. Then he charged at the mercenary with a furious cry.

* * *

Bane was waiting for Shadow when she emerged from the throes of the chaos.

"You should be ashamed, Talia," he growled. His eyes burned with contempt. "You dishonor your father and his legacy. Instead of avenging him, you wear his murderer's mantle!"

"I _will_ avenge my father," she declared, striding towards him brazenly. "And then I will save his city."

A mirthless laugh drifted from Bane's mask. "You fool! Gotham is beyond saving. As are _you_ -" Without warning he swung a massive fist at her head.

But Shadow was ready for him. She ducked and immediately countered with a barrage of strikes to his torso. Bane lashed out, grabbing one of her fists and twisting it painfully. "You really think you can do better than him?" he taunted.

"I will do better _for_ him!" Shadow returned. She spun herself under his arm, breaking his grip. Then, dropping to the ground, she hooked her legs around his to try and bring him down to her level. But he was too solid. When she saw the opening, she rolled behind him instead and sprang onto his back. One hand snaked across his neck while the other clawed at his mask, remembering Nightwing's success at the end of their last encounter.

Bane threw his fists over his shoulder, trying to dissuade her with punch after punch. But she held fast, even while blood gushed from her nose. Victory rang in her heart when one of the tubes broke free, hissing angrily.

He howled in pain. It sounded foreign to Shadow and spurned her on. Using both hands, she focused all her attention on the mask. Bane snarled like a rabid dog as several more tubes came undone. Enraged, he grabbed one of her legs and pried her body loose. With all his force then, he swung her round and threw her down the flight of stairs. Her cry of surprise was cut short when she struck a stone edge. Down she tumbled, over and over. Her body crumpled into a heap at the bottom and did not move again.

* * *

Meanwhile, Barsad relentlessly held Nightwing back from reaching his partner. He wielded a staff aloft, spinning it with deadly speed as Nightwing hurtled towards him. At the last second, the hero shot his leg out in front and leaned into a slide, feeling the wind of the staff brush his face. He slid right into Barsad's shins, causing his opponent to reel backwards. Nightwing followed him to the ground, wrenching the staff beneath his chin.

"You should never have come here," Nightwing hissed. "This city will always rise again!" Barsad roared in frustration. He pushed back against the staff, throwing Nightwing asunder. As the young man clattered to the ground, he drew out an escrima stick. A web of electricity shot from its tip, halting Barsad's encroach. He sank to his knees, groaning in pain.

Suddenly, they were blinded by a flash of light. The fighting around them halted in confusion. Nightwing shielded his eyes, looking up at a wall of flames that leapt forth from the side of the courthouse. Fire ran along a preordained path, branding the night with a fearsome and familiar silhouette. Nightwing's jaw fell open when he recognized the symbol.

Terror struck the heart of every criminal watching. Frightened cries rang out. They scrambled over one another in their haste to escape from the fiery bat that seared the darkness above them.

Nightwing turned back to Barsad, but his opponent was gone. All around him, men were fleeing in droves. While they retreated, Gordon and Jones thinned the herd, striking down as many as they could.

 _Shadow!_ His attention snapped to the courthouse. Bane was nowhere in sight. But there was someone else. There at the base of the stairs knelt the Dark Knight himself. He bent over Shadow's motionless body, cradling her head in his arms. The edge of her cape fell across the bottom steps where she had fallen, furling gently in the wind.

Nightwing raced towards them, his heart in his throat. Batman turned his head at the sound of swiftly approaching footsteps. But his attention was diverted when a hand reached up and touched his face.

He looked down into Shadow's wide open eyes. Her lips trembled in disbelief. "You...you came back..."

Batman grasped her hand and squeezed it tenderly. "Yes. It's alright now," he crooned.

"No, it's not alright," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Please, will you forgive me? I should have told you the truth-"

"Shh, shh," he stopped her short and lifted her into an embrace. "I forgave you long ago," he promised.

A grateful peace seeped into her eyes. She threw her arms around him, holding on as tight as she could. For the first time in a long time, her heart felt whole.

Blake let out the breath he realized he had been holding. He sank to his knees behind them in relief.

"Get over here, young man," Bruce ordered, opening one of his arms.

Blake grinned and joined the huddle. "You're a damn show off, you know that?"

Shadow's laughter rang out through the winter air. Even Batman cracked a smile. From a distance, Gordon and his men watched the joyful reunion. "Come on," the commissioner urged. "We have some good news to share."


	75. Home

Alfred was busy tending to his injured wards back at Wayne Manor, clucking at them all the while for not being careful enough (especially Bruce, who was flattered by the extra attention). They merely smiled at his chidings, knowing that he couldn't be happier to be so occupied.

In the parlor, Shadow reclined on a sofa as she pressed an ice pack to her elbow per the butler's orders. Bruce crouched before her, wiping dried blood from her face with a damp cloth. He cringed at the fresh assortment of wounds it uncovered.

"You've been busy," he noted. "I'm very proud, you know that? Gotham has been in good hands."

Tears pricked at Shadow's eyes in the wake of his rare recognition. She cleared her throat and tried to sit up.

"Bruce, there's...there's something I wanted to tell you."

He paused, the cloth still against her cheek. "What is it?"

She drew in a deep breath. "We've always had an unspoken way about us, haven't we? When you were gone, I was afraid that I would never get a chance to tell you, I mean to actually just tell you. I...I have to be sure that you know."

"Know what?"

"That...well...that I love you." A single tear fought its way forward, sojourning down her cheek alone. She remained rigid as a soldier, awaiting his reaction as if she were awaiting a reprimand. Misjudging Bruce's silence, she continued hastily. "I mean, I know what I did. I-I turned on you, Bruce. I turned on everything you taught me. You saved me from a life of meaningless pain, and I-"

"I love you too," he interjected, wiping the tear away with a gentle hand. "Now look at me, Shadow." He nudged her chin upwards so that her gaze met his. "You are the daughter I never had. Because of you, I was able to remember what it felt like to be part of a family again. I should've made sure you knew that a long time ago."

She smiled, but it was like a crumpled copy of a smile. He pressed on: "And I think you were right, about how we've always had an unspoken way about us. It worked-at least for awhile. But then it's like...we didn't just stop talking. We stopped communicating."

"Yes, yes that's true." She looked away again, biting her lip in shame. "I always felt badly about it, you know. About going behind your back. I hope you weren't too hard on Blake about that."

Bruce chuckled softly. "It's alright; he's a forgiving guy. Doesn't seem like anything can keep him down for long."

Shadow chuckled, too. "He is quite different from us, huh?"

"No kidding! He's a morning person for crying out loud."

Her chuckle turned into a whole-hearted laugh. Bruce's face lit up with a grin at the sound. He dipped a fresh washcloth into a bowl of warm water and resumed cleaning her up.

"Look, we both made mistakes back then. But I think-in our own ways-we were just trying to save each other."

She nodded slowly, thoughtfully. "I believe you are right."

They were interrupted just then by the sound of footsteps in the hall. A freshened Blake appeared. "Shadow, please don't let that man stitch me up again," he pleaded, jerking his thumb towards the butler who emerged behind him with an armful of towels.

"I've seen Chihuahuas with a higher pain threshold. How _do_ you manage out there?"

Alfred sighed as he laid the towels on a table. "And how are you two?"

"Just fine Alfred, thank you," Shadow replied.

Bruce flashed a sympathetic smile at the young man. "Off to bed then?"

"Isn't there a lot we need to discuss?"

"Yes, we have some serious work ahead of us. But right now, you need sleep. You've done more than enough for one day. And you did a damn good job of it, too."

Blake stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his mentor, clapping him on the back. "It's good to have you home again. I mean it."

Bruce cuffed him affectionately. "It's good to _be_ home. And-Alfred, I'll take care of that!" Alfred had picked up the bowl of water and was wringing out bloody cloths with a disapproving scowl. Bruce hurried over to help him despite the butler's sharp rebukes for making such a mess.

Meanwhile, Shadow rose and examined the new stitches across Blake's cheek. "I'm fine," he insisted. "Are _you_ okay?"

"I am now," she promised.

He stroked her long, dark braid absent-mindedly. "I was worried about you for a minute there," he admitted. "I thought...I thought I'd lost you."

"Hey," she whispered, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it tight. "I'm still fighting. I'm still at your side."

"Come along, Master Blake," Alfred's voice rang out. The pair glanced at the butler and then back at each other with rueful smiles.

"Looks like I'm off to bed. See you there?" the young man asked, leaning forward to kiss her on the cheek.

"In a bit," she assured him, turning her face to receive it gladly. Blake helped her settle onto the sofa and then joined up with Alfred. Together they withdrew, leaving the parlor in comfortable silence.

Bruce settled into the cushions next to Shadow. He cleared his throat loudly. "So you and Blake...you've grown pretty close, I take it?"

A blush colored her cheeks to realize he must have overheard them. "Close? Uh. Well, yes." She fumbled for an answer, which humored Bruce greatly.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," he laughed. "He's a good man, Shadow. I didn't think I wanted him around at first. But now, I can't imagine Wayne Manor without him."

Shadow's elation radiated from her face. "Funny, isn't it? How you keep finding others to call family?"

Bruce puffed out a laugh. "Yeah. Think Alfred minds?"

"When does he _not_ mind?" They both giggled at that one.

"Well, speaking of Alfred," Bruce said, taking up a note of sternness. "He'll pitch a fit if you're not in bed soon. You need your rest."

But she buried her face in his shoulder, not ready to leave his side yet. "Please? A few more minutes?" she begged.

Bruce sighed, feigning exasperation. "Alright. I won't tell if you don't."


	76. The Beginning of the End

A subtle change blew through the beleaguered streets on the wings of the wind. Even winter was beginning to lose its icy hold. Batman's scorched symbol remained on the side of the courthouse; it looked over the city auspiciously and lent promise to the troubled silence that gripped Gotham.

On the edge of town, the walls of a ramshackle house brimmed with hope as a crowd gathered, waiting with hushed and excited tones. For many, it was their first time seeing Gotham's heroes up close. Three fearsome figures stood near the hearth, their silhouettes carved by the flickering fire behind them. Batman winked at a little boy who peeked down from the top of the stairs.

The little boy ducked hurriedly out of sight when his father stood and cleared his throat. The room fell silent, waiting for Commissioner Gordon to begin the meeting.

"As you know, it's been a busy week. But the end is in sight. Please, bear with us a little while longer."

"How _much_ longer? When will I see my wife again?" a man called out. "She hasn't seen daylight for months now!" Tears threatened his words.

"And what about Bane's army?" another asked. "How will we get everybody out if they show up?"

"Yes, Bane has an army. But so do we. Or at least we will, once they are freed," Gordon answered. "Captain Jones and his team have worked hard these last few days to get the explosives in place. Everything has to be timed just right-"

"My husband is down there," a woman interrupted. "How do we know Bane won't just set off the bomb as soon as we try to free them?" A desperate murmur ran through the crowd at the reminder of their peril.

"Please," Batman's voice rumbled over their heads, silencing the anxious clamor. "Do not give in to the fear. _We_ will worry about Bane." Masked as his face was, it betrayed no hint of trepidation at the daunting task.

"We have the technology," Batgirl spoke up. "A device that can block the detonator's signal. It has to be placed directly on the bomb's interface."

"What will you do, walk right up to it? Do you even know where it is?" Another wave of panic travelled through the room.

"Have faith in us," Nightwing urged. "Please! Do not give up now. You've all held on for so long. We won't let you down. Bane made a mistake when he underestimated this great city."

The hopefulness of Nightwing's words shone gallantly, finding its way into the hearts of those gathered before him. Batgirl flashed him a grateful look. It was as if the fire from the hearth smoldered in her eyes, burning with mighty resolve. The sight of Gotham's stoic guardians warmed the cold and weary spirits of the crowd.

"We _do_ think we know where the bomb is. But we need volunteers. Look-outs and scouts," Gordon said. His listeners pressed forward eagerly. As he delved into the details of their plan, the air grew heavy with anticipation. The meeting lasted long into the night. But even as darkness closed in around the house, its occupants could sense a blazing dawn waiting just below the horizon. The sun, like their city, would rise again soon.


	77. By the Dawn's Early Light

Morning broke over Gotham. An ominous rumbling shook the skies, followed by a searing flash of light. Shadow watched, mortified, as a billow of flames engulfed her city. She had only moments to wallow in her failure before they reached her, too.

She bolted upright, gasping for breath. Instead of flames, she found herself surrounded by the familiar comfort of her bedroom. "Whoa whoa, it's okay," came Blake's voice. She shook her head as if to shake off the nightmare as well.

"Shadow?" Blake brushed a lock of hair away from her face.

"I'm-I'm alright," she said, trying to convince herself at the same time. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, quelling her frayed nerves. Periwinkle light washed over the room, shrouding everything in a haze of blue. Shadow wished she could appreciate the serene silence that pervaded those early hours. It was as though the sky was holding its breath, waiting for dawn to burst forth.

"I haven't slept well, either," Blake admitted, pulling himself up beside her and stifling a yawn.

"I think I'll just get up now," Shadow muttered. "Go over the plans one more time-"

"I'll come with you."

She looked at Blake in surprise. Shadow had expected him to try and convince her to get more rest. One side of her mouth pulled back in a hint of a smile. But Blake could see Gotham's burden weighing heavily on her shoulders.

"What color?" he asked. He couldn't help but laugh at her ensuing blank stare. "Foxgloves," he clarified. "What color do you like best?"

Shadow's smile leapt from the corner of her mouth and shone full across her face. "Purple," she answered. "The purple flowers always reminded me of dusk over the glacier."

Blake nodded approvingly. "It's settled, then. Our garden will be as purple as an evening in Bhutan!" He leaned forward and kissed her gently. Shadow returned the kiss, but without any of the gentleness. Together, they sank back into the pillows.

* * *

A while later, they stepped into the Bat Cave to find Bruce already at work behind the desk. Upon sight of his two wards, he rose and gave them a weary grin. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"I'll sleep once we've won," Shadow replied, trotting up to greet him with a hug. She still found herself revelling in his presence. The week following his return was busy with preparations for their final battle, but still there had been moments to cherish. Never had they felt more like a family than in those precious few days.

Shadow looked over the scribbled notes that sat on the desk. They were Bruce's way of making sure he had all the angles of a plan covered. "Bruce," she said softly. "Are you _sure_ you don't want one of us to accompany you?"

"It's imperative that someone gets a signal jammer onto the bomb. You two and Jones are the most capable people for that job."

"But Bane-," she interjected.

"Don't worry; his attention will be on me, not the trucks."

"No offense, but what makes you so sure you can handle him alone?" Blake asked.

"Well," Bruce began. "I made a friend while I was away. He told me about Bane's greatest weakness. This doctor-he remembered you, Shadow." He gazed at her plaintively. It was time to reveal to her what had been revealed to him.

"Doctor?"

"Yes. He has remained in the Pit all these years."

Blake's confusion deepened. "What do you mean, the Pit? Shadow, you know of this place?" he asked, taking note of the wretched pain that crept into her eyes.

"I was born there," she explained, her voice grave and mournful. "It is a prison where they leave people to be forgotten. The doctor and my mother were my whole world. When we were attacked by the other prisoners, she helped me to escape. I thought if I could find my father, he would save her. I did not know she was dead before I even made it to the top of the wall."

Bruce clutched Shadow's hand, remembering the doctor's tragic tale. "It wasn't your fault," he consoled her. "Your mother...she wanted you to survive. Her death was a willing sacrifice. She was brave like that-like you."

"I'm so sorry, Bruce," Shadow gushed. "If I had known-"

"No. I'm glad you didn't know. Gotham needed you here. And it still needs us."

She clenched her jaw against a wall of tears that threatened to break forth from their dams. "Okay," she whispered. "Tell us then. What did the doctor say about Bane?"


	78. His Mask

_Golden evening light spilled across the savanna, embellishing its amber waves. The sweltering air pulsed with the thrumming of insects. A lone, crumbling structure stood beside a young acacia tree. Its spindly branches offered little respite from the heat. Still, a man hunched over his dinner in its meager shade, sweat glistening on his dirt-smudged forehead._

 _His hand paused mid-way to his mouth, for a curious sight came into view. A host of armor-clad men carried a makeshift gurney down the narrow path that wound its way to his doorstep. Sprawled on its top was a massive, bloody mess._

 _He resumed his meal as the soldiers surrounded him. "Is there something I can help you with?" he inquired, casting an indifferent glance at their guns._

" _You are a doctor, are you not?" A dark-skinned man with a shaven head and rippling muscles asked._

" _Yes. And you are Bane's men. Am I to assume that is Bane?" he nodded towards the gurney and scraped together another bite of his dinner._

" _You will heal him," the dark-skinned man demanded. "Or you will die like the others."_

" _Others?"_

" _You are not the first doctor we have found. Let us hope you are not as...bothered...by the notion of helping such a man."_

" _Are you speaking of morals?" The doctor's lips twisted into a sly smile._

" _I am speaking of gold." He threw a bag down that clinked as it landed at the man's feet._

" _Then we are speaking the same language."_

* * *

 _The doctor labored over his patient in the flickering light of a torch that fended off the darkness with admirable ambition. Bane muttered incoherently as his eyes rolled back and forth beneath their lids._

" _What is he saying?" one of the soldiers asked._

" _He is speaking to death," the doctor said without looking up. The soldiers shifted anxiously. "This is not the work of an animal. Or one man," he noted. "Is there another war going on?"_

 _The dark-skinned man glared at him. "I paid you to heal Bane. Not gossip."_

" _It might help, if I knew what I am healing him from." He stared back shrewdly._

" _Come on Barsad," one of the soldiers piped up. "What does it matter?"_

 _Barsad sighed, exasperated. "Not a war. A coup. We were hired by the neighboring tribe. They told us it would be easy."_

 _The doctor shook his head with a click of his tongue. "There is no greater danger, than to underestimate your enemy."_

" _These were simple villagers. But they were stubborn. Resilient. Bane demanded we punish their resistance. It had to be done; I took no pleasure in it." There was a begrudging honesty in Barsad's final statement._

" _What happened?"_

 _The soldiers exchanged glances with one another. "We rounded up their daughters, their wives. One by one, they were all slaughtered."_

 _The doctor's eyes widened. "Did it work?"_

" _No. They rose up against us, impassioned more than ever. The coup failed. We barely managed to escape."_

 _The doctor wiped his hands on a filthy rag. "The villagers may have their vengeance yet. I cannot heal him completely."_

 _Barsad straightened his shoulders angrily. "We paid you-"_

" _I am not finished," the doctor cut him off. "I have an idea; there was an old legend about a witch doctor once, who claimed he could make a warrior immortal. Give me a few days."_

" _No. He may die while we wait!"_

" _But if I am successful, he will be stronger than ever."_

" _And if not?"_

 _The doctor shrugged. "Then kill me."_

* * *

 _Bane's eyes slowly opened. Figures bent over him, swimming in shadow and light. His head throbbed, but it did not hurt._

" _Barsad?" His voice sounded muffled. Bane's hand flew to his mouth, where it met with something cold and metallic. His fingers traced straps that wound over his face and met across the back of his head._

" _What is this?" he demanded, sitting up angrily. He braced, expecting to feel the sting of his injuries. But he felt no pain at all. In fact, he felt strangely alive and well._

" _It has worked!" a small man at his side proclaimed. Bane grabbed him around the throat and lifted him off the ground._

" _What did you do to me?" he snarled._

" _I made you better," the man gasped. Instead of fear, his eyes glinted with the pleasure of success. "Better than before. Thanks to your mask."_

" _I do not want this wretched thing!" Bane threw him to the ground and fumbled at the straps._

" _No!" the doctor warned. But Bane had already succeeded in ripping one of the sides loose. Immediately, a jolt of pain seared through his body like lightning. Bane cried out in agony. He dropped to his knees, grasping at the mask. He pressed it against his face again, breathing in the sickly sweet air that seeped from the tubes. A soothing sensation swept over him._

" _You see," the doctor's voice drifted to Bane's ears. "So long as you wear the mask, you will be as impervious to pain as a god. Remove it, and mortality will return on swift and cruel wings."_


	79. Quick Note

Author's Note: One more chapter, you guys! Well, two if you count the epilogue. Up next is the final confrontation. Part of me doesn't want to write it, because I don't want to admit it's over haha. I've really had fun with this. Thanks so much to everybody who has stuck with me, and to my faithful commenters! You've made this SO much more of an experience for me. If you haven't commented, please do! It would be very much appreciated! Even if it's just to say 'hey I read your story and I liked it.' It would mean a lot to me, since my whole goal is to tell a good story and make people feel something. So, hopefully I have accomplished that! I sincerely hope you've enjoyed your time in my spin on Nolan's universe. I will be busy wrapping everything up...see you at the end!

*My tracker shows only 1 person has read Chapter 71 (Home), and I published that one when the site was being really glitchy. Hopefully it is showing up for you guys. Don't want you to miss that chapter! Also, I posted Bane's origins story this morning, it is the chapter preceding this one, hopefully that one is showing up okay as well.


	80. A Spark in the Darkness

Author's Note: I know I promised only one more chapter, but it turns out there's a lot going on in these final scenes so I broke it up into two to make it easier to follow. Here's part 1, and part 2 is on the way!

* * *

Daybreak came, but the sky never brightened. A foreboding dark brooded over the city. Frost breathed against the window beside the breakfast table where Shadow picked at her plate. They had finished going over the plans, and Bruce's recounting of Bane's story resounded in her head. The sanctity of life had always been their most honored and upheld virtue. The fate of the villagers' daughters and wives made her soul ache with sorrow.

A device on the table beeped, fracturing the stillness of the scene. Blake and Shadow looked anxiously on as Bruce read Gordon's message.

"The teams are assembling now," he said.

Shadow's fork fell to her plate with a clatter, startling both men. "They're going to have to hurry," she said grimly. Her gaze had been drawn to the window. The two men turned. Piercing through the murky depth of clouds, the Bat Signal silently beckoned Gotham's heroes.

Bruce rose and stepped towards the window, his face hardening with anger. "Bane is calling," he muttered.

Blake's indomitable hope radiated from his eyes as he gripped Shadow's hand. "Shall we finish this, then?"

The young woman reflected on the villagers and the price of their victory. She envisioned them rising up against Bane from the depths of their tragedy, with a hope like Blake's raging in their veins. History was about to repeat itself.

"Yes," she answered. "Let's go."

* * *

The street before Gotham's police headquarters was silent, but not empty. An army blotted out the pavement. Men stood shoulder to shoulder, weapons in their hands and murder in their hearts. A flurry of snow dusted the city, a silent homage to the war. Its gentle white flakes died as soon as they touched the skin of a man who stood on the rooftop above. Every breath plumed forth from his mask, fading into the winter air while he waited.

Bane closed his eyes upon hearing a faint step on the concrete behind him. "So," he growled. "You came back to die with your city?" He turned around to face his enemy.

Batman glowered at him. Vengeance burned in his eyes. The Dark Knight's cape billowed out behind him, snatched up by the bitter wind. "No," he rasped. "I came back to stop you. Never again will you set foot in my city."

A harrowing laugh fell from Bane's mask. "Nor will anyone. For I shall reduce Gotham to ashes!"

Batman roared with righteous anger. He charged at the monstrous man, who stood ready and eager to begin their final fight.

* * *

Across town, a heavy military-grade truck plodded steadily down the street. A handful of mercenaries clung to its sides. Suddenly, the street before them tore open in a fiery blast. Black smoke belched towards the sky. The truck skidded to a stop as the mercenaries leapt down from their footholds, shouting in alarm. "Show yourselves!" their leader demanded. He pointed his gun at the flames, waiting with bated breath.

But something hooked around his ankle and yanked him off his feet. He was dragged backwards, attached to a cable that retracted around a nearby corner. He disappeared from view with one last scream that was cut ominously short.

The other mercenaries raced towards the corner, rapidly firing their guns. But they found the block empty, save for the sprawling, unconscious body of their leader.

They didn't have long to steep in their confusion. For a caped shadow landed in their midst, lashing out with frightening speed and power. They fought back viciously, but their numbers began to dwindle under her punishing prowess.

At long last, only one remained. The mercenary stared Batgirl down. His eyes reminded her of a rabid dog. Just then something blazed across her shoulder like fire. She yelped in pain. One of the mercenaries was aiming a gun at her from the pavement. Before he could pull the trigger again, she drove her boot into the side of his head. He flopped back to the ground, unconscious once more.

But her still standing enemy saw his chance. He rushed at the wounded hero, pinning her against the side of the truck by her throat, She felt her windpipe slowly collapsing in his grip. Straining for breath, she reached up and pried away one of his fingers, bending it backwards with a sickening snap.

His hold immediately loosened as he yelled out in agony. She kicked him across the chest with all her might, sending him backwards. His broken finger was forgotten as he struggled to regain his balance. But Batgirl would not allow it. She followed him with a ruthless assault of punches and spinning kicks until he toppled face first to the frozen ground.

Ignoring the pain that burned in her shoulder, Batgirl dashed to the back of the truck. Her heart pounded with urgency as she opened the latch and swung the doors wide.

"Damn it!" she shouted, punching the bumper with a bloodied fist. The floor of the holding stretched out before her, barren of anything but dust and disappointment. The bomb was not there. Her truck had been one of the decoys.

* * *

Jones slid through a small opening on the top of a truck several miles away. He landed clumsily in the cargo hold. He could hear the muffled sounds of his men fighting the host of mercenaries outside. The captain pulled a small flashlight from his belt and held his breath as he waited for the moment of truth. A single beam of light sliced through the darkness, illuminating a diabolical device near the other end. There it was at last, the instrument of Gotham's greatest evil.

Hurriedly, Jones shoved the flashlight into his mouth, holding it between his teeth. He withdrew the signal jammer from his breastpocket and approached a small, glowing screen. Menacing red numbers ticked away in his face. "Impossible…" Jones moaned. His hands shook as he reached for his radio.

"Batgirl, Nightwing-are you there?"

" _Go ahead,"_ came Batgirl's response.

"I found the bomb," Jones said. He could imagine their relief. But as much as it pained him, he had to continue. "Our timing...our timing was wrong. It says we only have twenty-three minutes."

He leaned against the side of the cargo hold, waiting for the news to sink in.

" _Did you get the signal jammer in place_?" Nightwing's voice came through the speaker.

"Yes," Jones answered. "But what do we do now? Are we fighting a losing war?"

" _No,"_ Batgirl stated resolutely. " _We have an aircraft. We'll hook it up to the bomb and set the autopilot to fly it out over the bay."_

"How soon can you get here?"

" _I'm on my way now."_

Jones straightened up. He saw a spark of hope in the darkness. With a new determination, he made his way back to the opening. He had to help his men ward off the guards until Batgirl could get there. But just as reached for the light, a bullet burrowed into his forehead.

Barsad stood over the opening, gun in hand. "Prepare a convoy," he ordered one of the mercenaries on the ground who stood amidst a bloody tangle of bodies. "And tell Bane we're on our way."


	81. The Bat in the Sky

Author's Note: Oh my gosh guys, this is a lot longer than I had anticipated, so it's actually going to be a 3-parter. But that's it, I swear! Haha. Thanks for bearing with me, I hope you don't mind and enjoy all the action! Things are getting pretty dire... (by the way, Part 3 and the epilogue will be up tomorrow; they're both already finished, I just need to polish them up)

* * *

A purple, rubber ball bounced against the rooftop of a derelict apartment building. As it sailed into the air, a tiny hand snatched up a cluster of jacks from the snow-dappled pavement before it could bounce a second time. Honey-blonde hair fell over the shoulders of a young girl as she opened her hand to count the jacks she had collected. "Darn," she mumbled. She let them tumble back to the ground.

A frigid wind pulled at the corner of her jacket, sending a shiver down her spine. Cold as it was, she hated staying inside. Especially when her father told her to stay inside. She got up and wandered to the ledge, looking out over the concrete jungle. Secretly, she hoped to catch a glimpse of her new masked friend.

Suddenly the ground rumbled as if a dragon were stirring awake beneath her feet. Her jacks quivered and danced on the pavement. _Was this it? Was this the bomb everyone was talking about?_ She crouched next to the ledge, burying her head in her arms. Explosions erupted around the city like a chain of volcanoes going off at once.

"Stephanie!" came her father's frantic voice. He emerged from the stairwell and rushed to her side, collecting her into his arms. "What are you doing up here?" he scolded. "I told you to-"

"-stay inside, I know, I know!" She tried to sound annoyed instead of frightened. But still she pressed her face into his shirt, grateful that he had caught her. Slowly, the rumbling subsided. After several moments of tense silence, the air filled with the din of victorious cries.

"What's going on, dad?" Stephanie asked, braving a look at the dusty horizon. She squinted as a ray of light landed on her cheek. The sun had battled its way through the clouds, pouring its golden brilliance over the city.

Her father exhaled with relief. "It wasn't the bomb," he said. "It was the tunnels. They've been blasted open."

* * *

" _Blake, I can't reach Jones. Have you heard from him?_ " Shadow's voice came through their private channel.

"No," he answered dolefully. The Bat Pod roared down the empty street. "His team isn't responding either. I'm searching for any sign of them or the bomb."

Blake gripped the handlebars until his knuckles turned white. A deep fury burned in his heart at the loss of the courageous captain and his team.

" _What about Gordon? Were the blasts successful?"_

"I believe so. And they could use the Bat. There's an army waiting for them in front of police headquarters."

There was a moment of silence on the line. He knew she was struggling with the same feeling of helplessness. The war was too spread out. It was like trying to grab every piece of a broken mirror; it was impossible to save them all without scathing yourself.

"And Shadow?" he added, picturing her alone in the cockpit, wrestling with despair. "I may not be with you, but I'm still fighting at your side. We haven't lost yet."

* * *

Gordon marched down the trash-strewn street, an army of uniforms at his heel. Silence descended like snow as hordes of enemies came into view. War lay on the street before them. But on the other side awaited Gotham's redemption.

One of Bane's commanders stepped forward. "Keep marching, if you wish to die!" he shouted to the commissioner.

"In the name of the law, we order you to stand down!" Gordon shot back.

An armored personnel carrier slid forward, slowing to a stop beside the commander. The long shaft of its mounted gun groaned as it spun towards Gordon.

He swallowed nervously and glanced up into the clouds. Despite the waxing strength of the sun, Gordon could still make out the beacon's faint silhouette of a bat. It lent him the courage to take another step. "Last chance!" he warned. The men and women behind him looked on with morbid anticipation.

The commander lifted a radio to his mouth and uttered a single, cruel word: "Fire."

Bullets exploded from the barrel of the APC in a puff of smoke. But they did not reach Gordon. For something sleek and black swooped down between the two armies, hovering in the path of fire. The bullets glanced off its armored sides with sharp pangs of metal against metal.

"Keep firing!" the commander fumed. In retaliation, two long shafts separated from the sides of the aircraft. With a thunderous blast, the ground in front of the APC tore wide open. The carrier flipped over, rolling several times as Bane's soldiers scrambled to get out of the way.

Deafening cheers erupted behind Gordon. "Let's move!" he ordered. They surged forward, galvanized by the Bat in the sky.

* * *

Dire determination staved off fatigue as Batman continued his assault on the rooftop. The sound of concrete being rent apart shifted his attention. Bane pulled away, snapping his head towards the street below. A sea of uniforms swept over his army like a ruthless tide. A mechanical beast kept guard over them, blasting holes around Bane's fleet of armed vehicles and toppling their mounted guns.

"Impossible!" Bane snarled.

The Dark Knight's heart welled with pride at the sight. "You're finished, Bane!" he proclaimed. His fist smashed into his enemy's jaw with an uppercut. Several more blows landed on the breathing apparatus. Though his knuckles throbbed with pain, he kept on ramming the metal tubes.

Bane staggered backwards, precariously close to the edge. "No," he hissed. "It is Gotham that is finished." He withdrew the detonator from his pocket and held it aloft. His thumb sank into the red button on top.

Batman's eyes flew wide. Summoning all of his strength, he rushed at the hulk of a man and barreled into his chest. They tumbled over the edge together, not knowing if Gotham would still be there when they reached the bottom.

The icy air clawed at their faces as they plunged rapidly towards the raging war. Batman flared open his cape, slowing their descent just barely enough. The two titans crashed onto the pavement. Batman pried himself free and slid away, waiting for his balance to recover from the dizzying drop.

"So you have found a way to block the signal," Bane growled, rolling to his feet. "No matter. You have bought the city mere minutes." He looked down at a device around his wrist. "Sixteen minutes, to be exact."

Batman's chest heaved with the shock. He sank back to the ground. "No…" he moaned. He knew there had been a chance Fox's calculations were off. But they were supposed to have six days left to defuse the bomb.

Just then a massive truck plowed through the street, heedless of the combatants blocking its way. It veered next to Bane, pausing briefly to let him clamber aboard.

"Shadow!" Batman rasped into his commlink. "The truck! Don't let him get away-there isn't much time!"

" _I'm on it,"_ came her answer. The sky above him rolled as if with thunder. The Bat glided over the chaos, heading for the bomb.

Suddenly, someone thrust Batman's head into the pavement. A swarm of men surrounded him, beating savagely on the fallen hero. No matter how many times he tried to stand, a multitude of fists and feet drove him down again. Failure taunted in his ear. He could see the flames about to swallow his city whole.

Then someone broke through the crowd. A pair of feet stood solidly before him, keeping the murderous mob at bay. "Are you going to get up and help, or keep watching?" Nightwing panted just as another mercenary dove at him.

Indignantly, Batman pulled himself up. Side by side, they fended off the relentless waves of enemies.


	82. From the Ashes

A procession of armed vehicles followed Bane's truck as it made its way towards the heart of the city. A formidable black aircraft soared into view behind them. It zagged between the maze of steel towers in pursuit of its prey.

"Bring it down!" Bane roared to his men. Mounted guns swiveled towards the Bat. Bullets spewed from their barrels in a deafening display of firepower. But Shadow maneuvered the aircraft deftly, rebounding with more determination than ever.

She fired back. Vehicles swerved to avoid the trail of smoking craters she left around the convoy. The leading car veered too sharply and rolled onto its side. Another car plowed into it, dragging them both down the highway.

Bane's truck pulled ahead, making straight for the gaping entrance of the Western Pass, Gotham's largest traffic tunnel. Several members of his convoy were able to weave through the heaps of twisted metal and glass and carry on towards their leader. Upon sight of the pass, a plan sprang to life in Shadow's head.

She waited for Bane's truck to enter the pass. As soon as it disappeared from view, she fired upon the outer walls, collapsing them. The convoy screeched to a stop, blocked by the fiery rubble. Finally, it was down to only Shadow and Bane.

The truck sped through the tunnel. Bane saw the entrance close in behind him. But suddenly, the other side darkened as well. A black mass hovered down into the tunnel, waiting for him. He slammed on the brakes and the truck skidded to a clumsy halt. For several moments, they stared each other down. Wheels against wings. Destroyer against protector. Shadow against darkness.

Then the squealing of rubber pierced the air. Bane had called her bluff. Shadow pulled back on the controls with all her might as the truck hurtled towards her, gaining speed with every passing second. Daylight touched the back of the aircraft. She was almost clear. But not quickly enough.

Bane's truck scored the Bat's underbelly, bucking it up against the tunnel exit. It careened out of control, skidding along the highway with the grinding of metal and asphalt. Shadow's head smacked against the hatch. Cracks spidered outward from the impact. The world went black.

* * *

She awoke to alarms blaring in her ear. The Bat was at a standstill. _The bomb!_ Shadow fumbled at her seatbelt and released the hatch. She fell to the ground, her legs still shaky from the crash. Leaning against the aircraft, she assessed the situation. The road was scarred from her trajectory and sprinkled with broken glass. In a ditch on the side of the road sprawled the truck, wisps of smoke rising towards the white-gold sky. A body hung halfway out of the door. Blood dripped silently from Bane's face.

"I've got it. I've got the bomb," Shadow gasped into her communicator, still trying to catch her breath. "We crashed just outside of the Western Pass."

" _I'll be right there,"_ Bruce promised. _"Are you alright?"_

"I think so. And Blake? Is he okay?"

" _I'm doubling his practice hours when we're done with this."_

Shadow smiled for the first time that morning. Victory was finally within reach. Though every bone in her body ached and a bullet still throbbed in her shoulder, she set to work. She pulled down a cable from the Bat and raced to the back of the truck. With a cry of effort she flung the doors open. The bomb lay on its side, still counting down. Nine minutes.

She hooked the cable to the diabolical device and then limped hurriedly back. "Please work," she muttered, trying to bring the engines back online. A promising rumble met her ears. The aircraft hummed to life beneath her feet.

The monitors blinked as she set a course for the autopilot. "Stay with me, stay with me," she pleaded. Suddenly sparks shot out of the console, spitting in her face. "No!" she screamed. The monitors went black, dead as a tomb.

Again and again she tried to resuscitate them, but to no avail. Her heart sank in a sea of desperation. She closed her eyes, picturing the red numbers counting down to Gotham's doom.

But the engines were still pulsing. The Bat could fly, just not on its own. Shadow knew what had to be done. Her hand trembled as it went to her communicator.

"Bruce...Blake…" she said with a heavy heart. "I am sorry."

" _What happened? What's wrong?"_ Bruce responded.

"Everything will be alright," she vowed tearfully.

There was a pause as Bruce grasped for understanding. Somewhere deep inside, he knew. He could hear it in her voice. _"Don't do anything, Shadow. Please. I beg you. I'm almost there."_

" _What's going on?"_ Blake chimed in. _"Say something, Shadow! Shadow?"_ But she could not bring herself to answer either of the men she loved most. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and clung tightly to her courage. It was time to do what was necessary. As much as it hurt, she reached up and shut off her communication link. She could not let them try to talk her out of it. Nor could she wait for them, lest they try to stop her.

She reached for the hatch to shut it closed. But someone stood in the way. Shadow gasped, recoiling in surprise. Bane glared back at her, his breath coming in snarls through his blood-soaked mask.

With one swift motion, he dragged her from the cockpit and plunged a dagger into her stomach. Shadow trembled with pain, staring into Bane's merciless eyes as the life seeped from her own. "How does it feel, child?" he taunted. "To know that you have failed him?" He twisted the blade, wrenching it deeper. A strangled cry escaped her lips. Her soul ached with the sorrow of how close she had come.

"Gotham…" she groaned.

Bane smiled beneath his demonic mask. "You will just have to imagine the flames."

Behind them, a cloud of dust billowed up as the tumbler arrived. "SHADOW!" Bruce cried. " _NOOOO!"_ His worst nightmare played out before him. He watched, seized with helpless horror, as Bane withdrew the dagger and let her fall the ground. A smear of blood followed Shadow down the side of the Bat.

Bruce could not feel his feet as they raced towards her murderer. He thought nothing of the bomb; he could think only of avenging Shadow. A vicious sound tore from his throat and retribution rained from his fists. Bane found himself no match for his fury this time. Blow after thunderous blow, the breathing tubes began to break free. They hissed like the angry souls of the villagers. With one final strike, the mask flew from Bane's face. Anguish filled his eyes, making him appear almost human. He curled onto his side, panting in utter agony as the sins of his past came clawing back. The villagers, like Shadow, would have their vengeance after all.

Bruce staggered, gasping for breath. The scorching heat of his rage subsided and the pain of his loss returned. "Shadow…" He hurried over to the crumpled body beside the Bat.

The sight of her bloody defeat brought him to his knees. Shards of glass, still embedded in the dark tangles of her hair, glittered as they caught the winter light. Her suit was tattered and torn. A crimson pool flowed towards him from her mortal wound.

"No, please. I'm...I'm so sorry…"

Her eyelids fluttered weakly. The breath caught in his throat. "Shadow?" he implored, drawing an arm underneath her head.

She strained to look up at him. "Bruce?"

"Yes," he whispered, his voice choking with tears. "I'm here, I'm here. It's alright."

Her eyes suddenly flew wide. "The bomb! I have to-"

"Don't move," he ordered as she struggled to stand. "I'll send it off, just don't try to get up."

"You can't. The autopilot...it was destroyed." Her chest heaved, fighting for breath. "Please. I only have a few minutes. But it can be enough."

A wretched understanding passed slowly over his face. "Shadow," he mourned. "I can't let you do this."

"My fate is sealed," she said stolidly. "I am going to die. Let it be for Gotham."

"I will go in your place!"

She reached up and brushed the tears from his mask. "No," she ordered. "Gotham still needs you. Blake-" she groaned as a tremor of pain seized her body. Bruce gripped her tighter, as if to keep death from stealing her away too soon. "Blake still needs you...more than ever." Her breathing turned ragged. "Don't let today turn to poison...for either of you…promise..."

"I promise," Bruce vowed. He stifled a sob and held her tighter still, pulling her up into an embrace. "You will always be Gotham's hero. You will always be _my_ hero," he whispered into her ear.

Serenity washed over her soul. She closed her eyes and nuzzled into the embrace, wishing she could stay with the man who had saved her from a meaningless life. "Thank-you," she breathed. "Thank-you for everything." She smiled at him, though there was tremendous sadness in the gesture's wake. "Now, please. It is time."

Tenderly, he lifted her from the ground. Shadow's limp body draped over his arms. Her head lolled against his chest. Though he didn't want to let go, Bruce placed Shadow on the seat of the cockpit. Clenching his teeth against the anguish, he guided her hands to the controls. Just before he stepped away for the last time, he kissed her tear-soaked cheek.

Suddenly a child was looking back at him. It was the dark-haired girl from the mountains who had followed him faithfully to the city that she would one day save. Her eyes beheld an age and a strength beyond their years. Forever he would remember those eyes.

A strident engine ripped through the air as Blake drove up in the Bat Pod. Shadow's heart shattered; she had not wanted him to see this part.

" _Go_!" Bruce shouted urgently. "I will stop him!" She nodded, biting her lip in bitter acceptance of what had to be done.

"Shadow!" Blake yelled, racing towards them. But Bruce tackled the young man around the waist.

" _You must not stop her,_ " he rasped. His voice strained with the effort-and the pain-of holding him back. Blake struggled against his mentor with all his might. He reached towards Shadow pleadingly.

"Don't! _Please_!" he screamed. She met his eyes one final time before the hatch closed. Then the Bat lifted, rising into the winter sky above Blake's pleas. Soon it was gone, carrying Shadow and the bomb away from Gotham forevermore.

"How could you let her do this?!" Blake cried, turning his rage against Bruce. He threw his master to the ground and pummelled him with his fists. Willingly, dutifully, Bruce took the beating. He would wait however long it took for the angry tide to ebb. And then he would be there to share the grief.

* * *

Miles passed swiftly below Shadow, the surface of the water smooth as an artist's brushstroke. She held onto the control stick with her last ounce of strength. Her vision began to dim, replaced by an impetuous flood of memories. Small, insignificant moments played before her like a film.

There was Bruce and her father on the glacier, huddled around a fire as Bruce recounted his past. The mountains melted away and she was in a cave suddenly. Bruce corrected her stance while the sweat from hours of training clung to her shirt. Then he was carrying her through the dark, lofty halls of Wayne Manor after finding her asleep in the music room. She had drifted off while waiting for him to return from a patrol, but was pleased to wake up in his arms. Blake's face appeared. He grinned at her over a scoop of rocky road. The small, outdated ice cream parlor faded away and they were sitting on a rooftop together. Their feet swung over the edge as he talked about his early days on the force. Stars shone through her bedroom window and they found themselves alone in the sweet secrecy of night. Blake's touch seared her skin as his breath rushed over her lips with every intimate sigh.

The memories sped up, flashing before her rapidly now. She saw Gordon reaching for her hand in the rainy alley. She saw Fox showing her how to repair the tumbler. She saw Alfred teaching her arithmetic-dear old Alfred. And suddenly, she was standing on the edge of a glistening skyscraper. On either side stood Batman and Nightwing, their silhouettes chiseled by moonlight. She could almost feel a kind wind brush her cheek as their beloved city stretched out before them.

"Rise…" she whispered. Her eyes closed. A faint smile lingered on her lips. And then, in the peaceful quiet of the cockpit, Shadow's final breath slipped from her lungs.

* * *

A blinding light seared across the sky over the raging battle. Gordon shielded his eyes as he looked to the source. A mushroom cloud billowed up from the ocean with a sonorous rumble. The sea boiled beneath a ball of flames, scarring the horizon. All around the commissioner, a clatter of guns filled the street. Bane's army cast down their weapons in surrender. The war was over. And Gotham was still intact.

Slowly, citizens began to emerge from the wreckage of Bane's occupation. Joyful cries swarmed the air as the city celebrated its freedom. But just outside of the Western Pass, two figures mourned alone. Gotham's heroes had paid for victory with one of their own. And it was from the ashes of her death that their great city would rise again.


	83. The Dark Knight's Shadow

**Author's Note: I have been updating some of the earlier chapters, nothing that changes the plot of course, just fleshing it out some more!**

* * *

A spring breeze sighed in the afternoon. It caressed pink and white blossoms on the heavily laden trees that had been restored to their former glory. Crowns of dandelions perked up from cracks in the sidewalk. Robins sang their merry tunes. Slowly, life had returned to Gotham.

A gentle sun beamed kindly upon the crowds who waited in reverent silence for Commissioner Gordon to speak. He stood at a podium, heedless to the sun and the flowers and the spring breeze. He glanced up at a nearby rooftop where the sun seemed to avoid two shadowy figures watching over the proceedings. Gordon's heart ached with the same grief as theirs.

"Let's see it then." He nodded to a group of men holding the edges of a silken cover. They pulled the cover down as the crowd clapped fervently. A bronze likeness of Batgirl gazed back at them, golden light glancing off of her fearsome cowl.

Gordon opened the pages of a tattered Charles Dickens book and cleared his throat. It was his wife's favorite novel. She had shown him the passages, and they both knew right away that they were befitting.

" _I see a beautiful city and a brilliant people rising from this abyss. I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy. I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done. It is a far, far better rest that I go to, than I have ever known."_

* * *

The months following Shadow's death were torturous for the residents of Wayne Manor. Reminders of her lay in the smallest of things, wounding deeply the way only small things do. An errant pair of shoes she had left by the door. An unfinished sketch on the sofa side table. Pillows that still held her sweet scent. Things that, with time, disappeared and were not replaced. Her bedroom door was eventually locked and stood as a solemn reminder of the voice that would never again fill their halls.

Bruce worried for Blake. He could only watch with burgeoning concern as his legendary hope began to wane. He feared that the young hero was wavering on an edge where Ra's al Ghul had once stood. The fire of the bomb was the fire that would forge them anew. But what would be the end result?

Slowly, three years eked by. There was much rebuilding to do. Still, it was seen as a graciously peaceful time for the city, a period many looked upon as good. But we know that all good things must come to an end. Gotham was due for a new villain. And a new hero.

Though Bruce and Blake did not know it yet, they stood on the eve of change…

The end

(and also the beginning)

* * *

 **Author's Note: Well, that is it! I hope you can forgive me for Shadow's death; it was something I had planned from the very beginning. Also, as you have probably surmised, I have decided to do a sequel! It will be a story in and of itself, but will take place following these events. So the universe and characters will remain the same, but the main character will be a new member of the Bat family. And she will be someone we have already met, actually! It will be a much, much shorter story because it will only be one main plot arc, whereas this one was three (following Christopher Nolan's trilogy). I will be drawing my inspiration from the comics for that one. I'm still working on the outline, so it may not be up for a few weeks. But I really hope you will follow that one as well! Please please let me know all your thoughts in the comments! I'm so sad it's over :-( Thanks so much to everyone who stuck it out, though. You guys are _my_ heroes!**


	84. Final Author's Note

Hey! So I finished this several months ago, and have been inspired to flesh it out even more. So for anyone who still follows this story, you may notice the sudden posting of new chapters. I delve more into what Shadow did while she was away, and also added a few scenes from when she was still a child. I would love to know what you think if you find the time to read anything! I am also well into the sequel now, so don't forget to check that one out. Thanks for your time and interest. Seriously, I love the readers/commenters on this site!


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